


A Cradle of Flesh and Bone

by bffimagine



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medical, Angst, Character Death, Explicit Language, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 03:31:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 70,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10982466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bffimagine/pseuds/bffimagine
Summary: He was born with a misshapen, malformed heart. They tried to fix it, but the complications left him with the kinds of scars that meant he wasn't expected to survive until his thirtieth birthday. He's still got dreams--one day, he would be a doctor--but someone has to give up their heart for him to make it. Sure, he was sick, but he wasn't down and he certainly wasn't out for the count.At least, not yet.-----Keith Kogane was the star of Altea University's medical school. He was destined to be the greatest surgeon of his generation, and probably for generations to come.Well, until he dropped out, anyway.





	A Cradle of Flesh and Bone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thejalapeno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejalapeno/gifts).
  * Inspired by [It's Beating For You](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/292377) by bffimagine. 



> PLEASE READ THE TAGS FOR POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNINGS.
> 
> For more detailed warnings (at the expense of some possible spoilers), please read the end notes.

A Cradle of Flesh and Bone

 

 

The first time Lance saw Keith Kogane was across the anatomy lab in his first year of medical school. Altea University was huge, and their medical program was the kind of prestigious that also made it a bit pretentious, evidenced by the sheer size and unnecessary chrome aesthetic of said lab. Noticing this _one guy_ from the other end of the room out of the hundred or so students all gathered in small groups around their assigned cadavers was basically like flopping into a haystack and having the needle find your eyeball.

Actually, it was kind of exactly that painful and awkward and debilitating, because Keith's hair was absolutely ridiculous. But _damn_ , in conjunction with the guy's absurdly pretty face, the dumb mullet did things to Lance's heart rate that made him feel a little presyncopal (as in faint--this stupidly attractive guy could possibly have made Lance pass out on top of an immeasurably generous octagenerian who donated their body to science just because Lance happened to see him at the periphery of his vision).

...Shit.

Of course, at the time, Lance didn't _know_ Keith Kogane was, well, Keith Kogane. He was just the dude with the mullet and the mysterious bad-boy vibes that made him blush into his notes about the vagus nerve, which honestly was only made worse when he moaned about it to one of his classmates after the lab. She looked at him like 'how-the-fuck-did-you-get-into-medical-school-you're-clearly-a-dumbass' and said, "Are you seriously mooning over Keith Kogane?"

Then Lance really did feel like a dumbass because, fuck, _Keith Kogane_? He probably developed a serious case of acute ptosis because he's pretty sure his eyes bugged out of his head in shock. (Sudden onset, incredibly severe Graves Disease? Pfft, more likely cause of his eyeballs trying to jump ship from his skull than mooning over some stuck-up asshole who thought he was a prodigy or something.)

"WHAT?"

Nyma sighed and shook her head, stuffing her anatomy atlas into her backpack with some difficulty.

"Wow, that's pretty dense, even for you. Gunning for ortho now?" she teased. Lance shook off his state of shock and scoffed.

"Uh, rude. Orthopedic surgeons are just as intelligent as any other doctor, Nyma. Besides, as much as I'd love being surrounded by mostly hot athletic guys, I would miss out on all the beautiful ladies working on Obs/Gyne..."

Nyma rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she hefted her backpack onto her shoulder. "Ugh, McClain, stop. I seriously never want to imagine you near a woman giving birth, ever."

Lance laughed as he shrugged on his favourite green bomber jacket and grabbed his bag, falling into step beside her. "I'll have you know that my handsome face could instantly stop any baby from crying, no matter how pissed off they are upon exit from the womb."

"Suuuure," Nyma sing-songed back, "your unconscious face will be so soothing to those babies after you've passed out at the sight of blood."

"Hey! It was ONE time, and I overslept that day so I missed breakfast, okay? It was just a minor drop in blood sugar, nothing to worry about--"

"Uh huh, Mr. I-screamed-when-the-baby-crowned."

"What happened to not wanting to imagine me at someone's cervix?"

"Oh, shut it."

Lance pouted, sticking out his bottom lip and letting it wobble a bit. Nyma giggled and pushed his face away.

"You may be cute, but it's not working on me, McClain!"

Lance stuck his tongue out at her and winked. "But you think I'm cute, so you should probably let me take you to dinner, right?"

"In your dreams!" she said without any malice. Lance laughed along with her, Keith Kogane forgotten for the time being (just like pretty much everything Dr. Coran talked about in the anatomy lab that day... ugh, Lance had lots of studying to do).

\-----

"...anyway, she turned me down again even though I _know_ her heart and soul pines for me and my manly charms."

Hunk nodded, eyes still glued to his computer screen. Lance knew his best friend was so good at multitasking he could probably take a yoga class, cook a ten-course gourmet meal, pet three dogs, clean his room and build a robot all within an hour and without ever looking away from his laptop. In fact, the only thing in that list that Lance _hadn't_ witnessed Hunk doing while completing another task simultaneously was petting three dogs (or any dogs at all), and that was only because he was really allergic and it was always super shitty to aggravate his delicate respiratory system in any way. He still loved to coo at them through the glass of pet store windows at the mall though, protected by an impenetrable layer of window.

"Dude, I think your 'manly charms' might be lain on a bit too.. thick?" Hunk said, finally meeting Lance's gaze.

He scoffed. "Pfft, nah. I bet she's trying really hard not to let me see her swoon, but she can't keep it up forever."

Hunk chuckled and closed his computer, cracking his knuckles. Lance watched him stretch from where he was sprawled dramatically on Hunk's (previously very neatly-made) bed.

"But yeah... Keith Kogane, eh?"

Lance grabbed Hunk's pillow and huffed, shoving his face in it. "Why, of all people, did that ugly mullet and pretty face have to belong to _Keith Kogane_?" He was probably only 50% intelligible with his voice muffled but Hunk just shook his head sympathetically and patted his shoulder in understanding.

"Yeah, it sucks that he's got like a million publications in the New England Journal of Medicine plus pretty much every medical faculty ever wants him in their specialty and his marks are crazy ridiculously high and he's a star athlete on top of all that, because it's really not fair for people like that to be attractive, too. I feel you, man. I mean, Shay is like, so beautiful AND she's so smart AND she's this incredible dancer AND I just wish she'd notice I exist..."

"Oh come on, man! She knows you exist. You're like, the biomed engineering prodigy of the century. I've seen you guys talking in the health sci library a couple of times and everything. It was all, 'Ooh, you're getting your PhD? That's soooooo wonderful, tell me about your thesis as I bat my eyelashes at you.'" Lance threw an arm around Hunk's shoulders as his BFFL slumped down onto the bed beside him.

Hunk smiled at him and Lance beamed. Then he grumbled, "Okay and yeah, thanks for all those reminders of how inadequate I am compared to Keith freaking Kogane. Like, okay, he's some major nerd who's also a champion fencer and track runner plus he's super accomplished and shit, and it's not like we're constantly hearing about how he is setting a new standard for us to live up to or anything. Ugh. And now I find out he's just unfairly good-looking and he's trying to kill me and my incredibly scarred, fibrosed little heart because he can't settle for only having a better ejection fraction, he has to be that much better than me at everything, of course."

That wasn't something many people knew about Lance, but he's pretty sure it's the reason he got to attend Altea University's medical school on a full free ride. In the application, he was asked a fairly standard question: "Why do you want to pursue a career in medicine?", to which he wrote about his life story. He was born with a congenital heart defect called Tetralogy of Fallot, which, to him, was actually something he viewed in a 'if it doesn't kill you, it makes you stronger' sort of way. He felt truly lucky and blessed that, against all likelihood, his fucked-up heart was the only thing wrong with him at birth. So yeah, he was really sick as a baby and then as a kid, because he had so many heart surgeries before he even started kindergarten he wouldn't have been able to count them once he learned to count. He also suffered some pretty severe complications after some of those surgeries, resulting in a mostly-functional heart with an expiry date estimated to be in his late twenties to early thirties. These kinds of estimates were notorious for inaccuracy, and Lance preferred to hope that it was a low-ball rather than an overcall, but he also tried not to think about it too much.

He basically got his birth certificate and number on the national heart transplant list at the same time. So he wrote about his struggles with being "different" growing up, and how that ended up being a blessing too--he met Hunk in the hospital playroom when he was four years old and waiting for a follow-up cardiology appointment. Hunk was there to see his respirologist for his cystic fibrosis, a terminal diagnosis without a lung transplant. They were pretty much inseparable ever since, to the point that Hunk came over so often that he spoke better Spanish than some of Lance's cousins that still lived in Cuba, and conversed with Lance's mother regularly on the phone. In turn, Lance had actually gone with Hunk's family to Samoa on a few of their vacations in school, and they used to draw the traditional Pe'a tattoos on one another in Sharpie because neither of their immune systems could handle the tampering that came with the real thing.

So, sure, he got a shortened lifespan and a bunch of hardships, but he also got his best friend, someone who understood what he was going through and acted as his rock through all of the obstacles life threw his way. As a result, he wanted to go to medical school and become a doctor to help kids like Hunk and himself. To him, every kid deserves a future, even if it's expected to be shorter than other peoples'.

He was also inspired by the 'Dream Fund' his godfather had started for him as soon as he decided he wanted to be a doctor. It might have been a pipe dream at the time (he was in the second grade), but it was a dream and his godfather really believed in him. Ever since then, his godfather deposited $25 each week into a special savings account that Lance was now using to cover whatever costs of living his scholarships didn't. Having that kind of support and faith pushed Lance to study hard, especially since he had so much catching up to do during his prolonged hospital stays. Otherwise, there was no way Lance's family would've been able to send him to such a prestigious university so far from home; he had 7 siblings and his parents always wanted to provide them with every possible opportunity, but the dance lessons and soccer teams and musical instruments were expensive and they certainly added up.

"I heard this Keith guy is really awkward though," Hunk murmured. "Like, mega-awkward. He apparently can't really hold a conversation unless it's about T-cells or antibiotics. How is he gonna be a doctor?"

Lance shruggled and flopped back onto Hunk's mattress. "Dunno. I hear he wants to be a surgeon, though, so maybe he won't really have to be _good_ at talking to people, per se."

\-----

Two-and-a-half years (of all-nighters and crazy exams and so much studying Lance was exhausted just thinking about it) later, Lance didn't often have the energy or time to dwell on Keith and his mullet. Actually, he'd really only ever glimpsed Keith Kogane occasionally since that day in the anatomy lab (Lance would never admit it, but it wasn't for lack of trying. He would oh-so-casually ask about the Altea prodigy whenever he could work it into the conversation). Sometimes it would be in the lecture halls on teaching days, or in the hospital auditoriums for Grand Rounds. Occasionally he'd overhear Keith talking to someone on a hospital ward during their clinical rotations, but Keith was never speaking to _him_ , and it was probably a good thing because crap, was it really necessary for him to have a cute voice, too??

Lance did notice that even though Keith seemed cool and confident and calm with patients, he was never around other people outside of clinical duties. Sure, he was perfectly polite when addressed, but he kind of killed conversations with painfully concise responses and didn't seem to know anything about the world outside of medicine. Nyma was on a gastroenterology elective with him and complained that he didn't understand a single pop culture or music reference anyone on the team made.

So at first, he wasn't suspicious that he stopped seeing Keith every so often, because there were tons of people in his class he had never even met and he never paid attention to it. But slowly weeks rolled into months, and he realised that he hadn't caught sight of that ridiculous (and criminally soft-looking) hair since midway through the academic year.

"So uh, what's Keith up to nowadays?" he tried to ask casually. Shay's eyebrows immediately shot up into her hairline as she looked up from the JAMA article she was reading.

"Oh my God," she gasped, "have you not heard?"

Lance's brow furrowed in confusion. "Well, obviously I'm out of some sort of loop here. What have I not heard?"

Shay pursed her lips and shook her head. "He dropped out a week or two ago. No one knows why. He still works at the hospital gift shop though, so it's really... weird. We still see him around but no one wants to ask."

Honestly, Lance couldn't explain the tangled mess of emotion that rose in his throat. There was definitely a healthy dose of shock and disbelief, and something he refused to call disappointment (even though it totally was). And beyond that, there was a strange anger and frustration that was maybe lined with a guilty tinge of relief and hope that it might be his chance to shine.

Buried at the centre of this nebula of feelings was a sadness that Lance didn't even want to try to understand.

Later that day, he asked Rolo about it. Rolo had a few of his mandatory core rotations with Keith (which Lance absolutely did NOT know from obsessively combing through the rotation assignments or anything), so he hoped the guy might be able to shed some light on the mystery.

"Sorry man," Rolo said, sounding truly apologetic, "Keith and I weren't really anything more than 'professional acquaintances', and even then he was like one of those silent, stoic British guard dudes with the tall furry hats. I don't think I've ever talked to him outside the hospital, and pretty much right after he finished his stuff for the day he headed out to work at the nursing home."

Lance frowned. "Nursing home? But I thought he was working at the hospital gift shop?"

Rolo shrugged noncommittally. "I dunno, I think he worked at both? I heard from one of my hockey teammates that Keith's been working full time as a lab tech since he dropped out. Apparently he's in the lab next door to where my buddy's doing his Masters thesis."

"Oh, okay. Thanks, Rolo." Rolo gave him a little wave as he headed off in the opposite direction. Lance felt that tangle of emotion settle even heavier in his chest, and trudged off toward the pediatrics ward. Usually, seeing the kids really cheered Lance up, and he was hoping today would be no different (not that he needed cheering up or anything, because he was NOT sad about Keith dropping out of medical school, dammit!).

He ran into his senior resident, who frowned at him.

"Hey, Lance, what's wrong?"

Lance cursed internally at his overly expressive (but, of course, adorable) face.

"Hi, Thace. I'm okay, no worries. Just... got some stuff on my mind, I guess."

Thace's frown deepened. He turned to rummage through his messenger bag and pulled out a crumpled five-dollar bill.

"Here, go get yourself a hot drink and a snack. You look like you really need it, you're kind of pale. Meet me back on the ward in half an hour, we can run through the patient list and tie up loose ends then." He made a shooing motion and Lance was so surprised and touched that he sort of dumbly followed along.

That's how he ended up passing by the hospital gift shop, and seeing that silly haircut like a mirage in the desert. He did a double-take and had to consciously prevent himself from openly gaping.

There was Keith Kogane, wearing the generic hospital employee polo shirt and a pair of dark jeans that looked worse for wear. He was scowling, which was kind of his default facial expression, but it looked different, somehow. More tired, perhaps. His face also seemed more drawn and a bit thinner than Lance remembered.

What really threw Lance off, though, was how dull Keith's eyes looked as he sorted through and organized a display of "Get Well Soon" cards and balloons. Even though Keith didn't say much, Lance saw this hard but warm determination in everything Keith did and said. Now, it appeared like whatever that was, it had been brutally extinguished.

Lance found himself walking into the gift shop instead of proceeding to the hospital cafeteria like he was instructed. It was already 7PM, and there were only a few people milling about the small store since most people were spending the last of visiting hours with the patients.

"Hey," he said. It was such a lame greeting, but his palms were already sweating and he felt his scarred heart begin to palpitate wildly in his chest.

Keith looked up, eyes wide as if surprised that anyone was talking to him (even though he was working in a shop?). It might've been Lance's imagination but he thought a faint flush may have risen to Keith's cheeks as he quickly turned back to the cards he was fumbling to keep a hold on. And this was supposed to be the surgical prodigy at Altea? What the hell? Based on this one interaction, Lance wouldn't trust this guy with a tongue depressor, much less a scalpel.

"Uh, hi," Keith responded (finally), coughing to clear his throat. "Um, can I... uh, can I help you?"

Well, now Lance felt like _anything_ he said would be smooth in comparison, but his heart must not have gotten the memo because it was still hammering rabbit-fast against his ribs. His vision may or may not have been spotting at the edges. He would absolutely NOT admit that this amount of sympathetic nervous response was coming from talking to _Keith Kogane_ no matter how beautiful--wait, ugh, no, Lance did NOT think Keith was beautiful!

"Er... yeah. I uh, was hoping to um. Find a card. For someone. Who's here in the, uh, hospital. This one. Hospital, I mean. This hospital." ( _Smooth as gravel._ )

Keith stared at him for a just a beat too long, looking like he couldn't figure out how to respond to that (and, seriously, was this the guy that aced all those crazy difficult exams? What the _actual_ fuck?). Then, he seemed to come back to Earth and cleared his throat again much too loudly. He noticed that right away and winced at the sound.

"I uh. Yeah, here. They're all right, um, here."

So that's how Lance ended up buying a card depicting a bunch of cats of improbable colours (well, except the black one, but really there are no green, neon yellow, red, or blue cats in existence as far as Lance was aware) saying, "Get well soon" with "Hope you have a purr-fect recovery!" on the inside. The whole thing was super cringe-worthy, but none so much as the fact that this card sat propped up on the side of the emergency room stretcher he ended up in after passing the fuck out. He had no idea how it happened (it was undoubtedly when Keith's hand brushed his as he handed over his five-dollar bill originally intended for caffeine (that he was medically forbidden from consuming) and sustenance (that he never consumed enough of, thanks medical school)) and his head was pounding.

"Oh my God," he heard from somewhere to his left. He looked over and winced at the brightness of the light in the room.

"Could you like, not talk so loud right now?" Lance requested with a shudder, one hand coming up to massage at his aching temples.

He heard a rustle of clothing and finally looked up to see none other than Keith Kogane standing awkwardly at the side of the stretcher, still wearing his hospital employee polo shirt and those threadbare dark jeans that Lance was appalled the hospital allowed him to wear while working. Keith kept shifting his weight from foot to foot and fiddling with his fingers like he didn't know what to do with them, staring down at said fingers as if hoping they'd tell him what to say next.

"Um, sorry," he whispered, hardly above a breath. Lance sighed. Now he felt like a dick.

"No, I didn't mean to snap at you. That was douche-y."

Keith's eyes flitted to Lance's for the briefest of moments, and Lance's breath caught because he'd never thought about it before, but purple might just be his favourite colour.

"N-no, uh... no, no, I was kind of inconsiderate. You went down pretty hard, I was just sc--I mean, I was worried, I guess? You're sort of young to have a myocardial infarction but I just... holy shit." He ran a hand through that soft-looking, horrible mullet and Lance noticed his hands shaking, but filed that away for later, when his head didn't feel like it had been run over by a large freight train.

Lance waved a hand airily and muttered, "You don't have to be worried. This happens from time to time. Syncope is basically my middle name."

He thought he really was hallucinating when he heard a soft snort and chuckle from from his left. Had Keith Kogane just _laughed_? Had he just _made Keith Kogane laugh_?? And no, that absolutely was NOT a fluttering feeling under his diaphragm at the thought, and he absolutely did NOT feel a warm tingle in his cheeks. Because Keith was NOT pretty when he smiled or laughed, even as he tried to hide it behind the back of his hand.

Lance really had to derail that second freight train of thought before it ramped up his heart rate and knocked him out again. He really could not handle this. Walking into the gift shop was a horrendously bad idea.

They lapsed into an oddly almost-comfortable silence when Thace burst through the curtains, breathing hard and visibly panicked. "Lance? Oh God, what happened to you? I should have come with you to get that coffee, I _knew_ you looked pale, what the f--"

"Thace!" Lance piped in, headache intensifying at the rush of his senior resident's panic, "dude, I'm okay. I just had a... uh, I guess a vasovagal response?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Lance saw the corner of Keith's mouth twitch down into a subtle frown (previously in that lovely soft smile... wait, what? No, there were no "lovely" things about Keith Kogane). His beautiful violet eyes--er, mediocre, completely average-looking purple eyes--narrowed but Lance didn't have time to consider what that meant.

"Shit, Lance, you literally scared the living daylights out of me. I'm the worst senior ever. My medical student almost died on shift with me, fuck!"

Lance held out both hands in a placating gesture. "Hey, hey, don't say that. It's not your fault, really. I just have um, low blood pressure. Usually. I should be more careful and stuff. And I will be! I promise." He flexed and extended his wrist a couple of times, feeling a cool rush of the IV fluids through the cannula in his hand. Ugh, he really didn't like that feeling.

Thace plopped into the chair on the right side of the bed/stretcher with a heavy sigh.

"You really do need to be more careful. You're really lucky that friend of yours called the emerg right away!"

At the mention of Keith (who was totally not Lance's friend and it's not like he wanted him to be or anything... or anything _more_ , of course not!), he glanced over to see that somehow Keith had slipped away silently. He smothered the disappointment he felt, because he was definitely not disappointed, that would be ridiculous.

"Yeah, I'm pretty lucky," he agreed, trying to channel his usual chipper tone but feeling distinctly glum.

"I mean, he made sure you were protecting your airway and I'm pretty sure he minimized the head trauma you received on the way down. Pretty quick guy! Thinks on his feet." Thace smiled and Lance tried to return it. It probably looked more like a grimace, but Lance hoped Thace attributed that to his recent syncopal event rather than connecting it to Keith leaving. Because it had nothing to do with Keith leaving, of course.

Once the rest of the bag of IV fluids was out of the bag and inside Lance's bloodstream, he was deemed fit to leave the ER (though it may have taken some wheedling and whining for them to actually discharge him). Thace promptly sent Lance home even though he was supposed to stay overnight, and the elder promised that he would sign the record saying that Lance completed his call shift. He even told Lance to take the next day off as if he had stayed overnight, and Lance was equally grateful and a bit annoyed--he didn't need coddling and he certainly did not work this hard to get special treatment or babying after he made it so far.

When he got home, Hunk was immediately concerned. His roommate had not planned to return to their apartment until pretty late into the night anyway, but had popped back in to refuel before heading back to his lab for the next few hours. Lance only just happened to catch him as he was on his way back out.

"What happened? You were supposed to stay the night on call, weren't you?"

Lance sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I uh... I passed out, so they sent me home. I just saw Kei--I mean, I just got a bit over-stressed and my heart kinda went kaput."

Hunk frowned and watched Lance flounce onto their couch with a slightly forced air of melodrama. He looked worried and Lance just felt guilty making so many people worry about him. He really, truly wanted to be a doctor and help people, but he always felt like people ended up looking after him. It made him feel completely useless (like the poor appendix, which usually did nothing but cause trouble once it got inflamed. Lance could really sympathize with the dangly organ... thing).

"I made dinner, why don't we just watch cartoons on Netflix and go to bed kinda early tonight then?" Hunk offered, slowly stepping out of his shoes.

Lance wanted to tell him that he shouldn't change his plans, to go ahead and do what he meant to do, but another, weaker part of him really wanted the support and really needed his solid, steadfast best friend to lean on tonight.

As much as he hated it sometimes, Lance's heart was as much a part of him as his flirting and his sense of humour. On days like this, Lance felt like it was trying its damndest to sabotage his chances at achieving his dream of making a difference in the world, of helping people and making them happy. Most of the time, he could see a patient go into cardiac arrest or get wheeled into a trauma bay with only the slightest flicker of his pulse. By now, he was well-trained to stay calm under all circumstances.

...Well, _almost_ all circumstances. Clearly, Keith Kogane, his (now-dropout) rival in every way, was not a usual circumstance for him, and having a massive freaking crush on him was even further from the norm.

Oh, fuck. He had a crush on Keith Kogane.

\-----

It was Tuesday night, meaning that Lance got to occupy the microphone at a small cafe on the university campus that was mostly inhabited by hipsters with too many Instagram photos and too much disposable income. They came here to drink Starbucks knockoff coffee so overpriced it made Lance tear up just from the smell of it. Other than Wednesday "Spoken Word Poetry Open Mic Slam" nights, Tuesday was probably one of the cafe's busiest evenings, so Lance made a solid amount of extra cash in tips (or were they donations? Whatever. Extra cash). The cafe didn't pay him to play but he also didn't have to pay any sort of rent or tech fee, so it worked out in both their favours.

As with everything else in the world of social awkwardness, the very last person Lance would ever hope to see was exactly the person who walked in as he started his third song. Keith Kogane was bundled in a red toque (that had a pompom on the top, and even Lance had to admit that it was kinda cute), red plaid scarf, and black gloves that would be practical if they actually had fingers. So they were gloves that invited frostbite instead of preventing it? Dammit, _this_ was the idiot that Lance had gone and become infatuated with--an idiot who didn't understand proper winter hand insulation could also make Lance's dumb, malformed heart do backflips in his chest.

Lance followed Keith's path with his eyes, trying to be surreptitious about it. His former classmate approached the counter apprehensively, then didn't even order anything. He waited a few minutes, leaning on the glass pastry display case. His posture screamed exhaustion, but his face was blank, even as his eyes wandered up to the small stage where Lance was just getting to the bridge of his song.

When their gazes met, there was a spark of recognition that made Keith stand up a bit straighter instead of using the display case to hold up his weight (it was hard to tell with him all bundled up, but he seemed even skinnier than before). It looked sort of like the human manifestation of a cat or dog's ears pricking up in interest.

Lance licked his lips as he strummed out the chords leading up to the final chorus. He closed his eyes, the pace of his heartbeat picking up in anticipation, but it was soothed by the familiar feel of guitar strings against the calloused pads of his fingertips, the familiar hum of the lyrics behind his sternum. Music was Lance's go-to for dealing with every emotion under the Varadero sun. At the cafe, he played mostly covers of whatever songs he couldn't get out of his head, but at home he had a bunch of works in progress scribbled out on loose sheets of paper or in the margins of his notebooks alongside diagrams of physiology and pathophysiology. He would probably be too insecure to play them in public, ever, but he could maybe see himself playing them for someone special.

The way Keith's eyes never left his face made an unfamiliar warm sensation bubble in his gut. His voice didn't waver, and neither did his gaze. Across the entirety of the cafe, they were locked in a duel of wills--who would break contact first? The moment stretched on for what seemed like an eternity before Lance even realised the song was over, the cafe's patrons were clapping, and some tall guy behind the counter tapped Keith's shoulder, stealing his attention. There was _maybe_ a tiny spark of jealousy in the pit of Lance's stomach from the way this stranger's hand curled around Keith's elbow like it belonged there, like they were just meant to _fit_.

Lance tried not to mourn the loss of those stunning violet eyes on him, smiled charmingly at the students drinking their insanely pricey hot beverages, and cleared his throat. He had to make a conscious effort not to track Keith's departure, and firmly squashed down the inexplicable hurt that arose when Keith didn't look back, the cafe's door jingling merrily after his exit.

The bastard hadn't even bought a coffee.

\-----

In March, the weather was finally mild enough to go outdoors without covering every inch of exposed skin--or at least, it was mild enough for _Lance_ to feel like he could get away with just his coat, because Cuba was never this freaking _frigid_. Unfortunately, that was also when Lance's very old but very cherished car had to be taken in for maintenance. Consequently, he was stuck taking the bus to and from the hospital for the week.

Even though the sun was shining, the wind was still a little chilly, so Lance sought refuge inside the bus shelter. It was also nicer in March than its predecessors because the sun was actually peeking out at around 6AM, meaning that Lance could travel to the hospital during daylight instead of scurrying back and forth in what seemed like perpetual frozen night.

Huddled up in one of the seats and slumped into the corner of the bus shelter was a small black heap of clothing topped off by a red pompom. Lance raised an eyebrow, but left the bundle undisturbed as he put his earphones in to listen to a pediatric emergency medicine podcast. A few minutes later, the bus was pulling up but the bundle didn't move, so Lance gave it a gentle nudge.

"Hey, buddy, bus is here," he said gently as the swaddle of clothing startled awake. It let out a few gross, phlegmy coughs that made Lance instinctively shirk away (well, a flu had nearly killed him after one of his heart operations, so it was a perfectly normal self-preservation response) but also wince in sympathy.

Two large violet eyes blinked up owlishly over a ratty plaid scarf, and Lance suppressed the urge to groan. Absolutely anyone else on the planet could've been in this bus shelter with him at the buttcrack of dawn (well, dawn was technically at around 5:30AM but 6AM was close enough), and it just had to be Keith Kogane, whom Lance had a big stupid crush on despite having only a few pitiful excuses for interactions with him. One of those interactions was also when Keith had to swoop in and save his life and shit, so that sort of sucked.

"Are you okay?" he asked, trying to exude the sympathy he was feeling without getting too close to a sniffly mess of Keith Kogane.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Keith responded, stumbling to his feet and looking definitely _not_ fine, "just tired."

Lance thought twice about offering his hand to steady the other boy (and internally felt slimy for even hesitating) but Keith found his feet soon enough.

"Thanks for um, for waking me. What time is it?"

Lance checked his watch. "6:15AM, the bus is loading now."

Keith choked on air for a second and Lance almost reached out to pat him on the back, but then Keith darted out of the shelter and onto the bus. It seemed like an odd reaction to the time. Lance was also somewhat offended at how rudely Keith bolted off after his question was answered.

Whatever. Lance boarded the bus with the other passengers, sitting down next to Keith but pointedly avoiding any eye contact. As the bus doors closed and the engine started up, Keith cleared his throat (again, phlegmy and nasty) and croaked out, "Sorry about that... I panicked. I'm late. Thanks, though. For telling me the time, I mean. And waking me."

Lance pulled out his phone for no reason because there were going to be exactly zero new texts so early in the morning, but turned on the screen to look at it instead of Keith's face as he gave a noncommittal reply: "Sure, no problem." He couldn't help but watch Keith's reaction from the corner of his eye.

The shorter boy pulled his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. Lance noticed it was chapped and bleeding a bit already.

"You're that medical student, right?" Keith said, looking down at his knees. Lance balked but Keith wasn't paying attention. "From the gift shop? Are you... are you okay now?"

Lance was flattered Keith even remembered who he was, but he supposed having someone almost die on you while you were trying to sell them a gaudy "Get Well Soon" card would be pretty memorable.

"Yeah, I'm good. Thanks for all that, by the way."

Keith gave a small nod in acknowledgement and they lapsed into silence for the next few stops.

"So uh, why'd you drop out?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Lance regretted them. He was just so curious! How could he not be, with this mysterious, cute guy sitting next to him in those same stupid frostbite invitation gloves and what looked like the worst eyebags the world had ever seen?

Keith's mouth was drawn into a thin, firm line. He turned his shoulders away from Lance. "None of your business."

Lance expected the clipped reply, but it stung nonetheless. "Sorry," he said, feeling genuinely apologetic. "You're right, it isn't any of my business."

They lapsed into another silence, this one markedly less comfortable than the last. Lance stared down at his hands, cursing his lack of verbal filter.

The bus rang out and it was Lance's stop. Unsurprisingly, Keith stood up next to him. The other boy had sort of shrunk into himself as if he either wanted to avoid touching Lance at all costs, or he wanted to disappear. Lance could definitely understand that feeling--he wished a hole would open up in the ground and swallow him for his complete lack of tact.

They exited the bus in front of the hospital, and before Keith could run off again Lance caught his elbow. "I'm Lance, by the way."

Keith focused so intently on Lance's hand on his elbow that Lance retracted it. Then Keith looked up at his face.

"I know. I mean, um, when they admitted you and stuff. It was on your name tag."

Lance felt his cheeks heat in embarrassment. God, that day would loom over him forever, wouldn't it?

"I'm um... well, I guess you know who I am, then," Keith said bitterly.

"Whoa, buddy, I only asked because, well, I'm kind of concerned, okay? No one just drops out of medical school, especially someone like you, who should clearly be a doctor someday."

Keith's gaze flitted back to meet Lance's, and they fell into another quiet staring contest. Finally, Keith turned away.

"I have to go. I'm already late."

He walked into the hospital several strides ahead of Lance. Lance made no move to catch up.

\-----

Lance walked into the Castle Cafe a few minutes later than he'd usually arrive, but Hunk had finally asked Shay out and he needed to give his bro a proper congratulations including many, many fistbumps and a batch of homemade cupcakes.

"Oh, hey, Shiro," Lance greeted as he pulled off his coat and hung it in the employee area. Shiro was one of the newer waiters/baristas at the cafe, a really nice guy with a scar across the bridge of his nose and a prosthetic right arm that no one had the balls (or audacity?) to ask about yet. His prosthetic was state-of-the-art, though, originally designed by Dr. Alfor, the world renowned neurosurgeon and dean of Altea's medical school (it was very close to how Lance imagined Luke Skywalker's cybernetic arm in form and function, so how cool was that??). He was also inanely good-looking, which was extra impressive since he somehow made those scars work for him. This was the stranger who was talking to Keith so familiarly the week previous (and nope, Lance did NOT wanna ask anything about their relationship or how they knew each other). Lance couldn't help but wonder what he looked like before all the scars took residence in his skin.

Shiro smiled tiredly. Everything he did, he did tiredly. It was like his bones were filled with fatigue instead of marrow, joints cushioned by sleepless nights instead of synovium. The poor guy always looked run down and haunted, even, like he was always just a moment away from vanishing into his own thoughts and never coming back. He got sort of spooked, sometimes, whenever a car backfired in the parking lot, and once had a full-on panic attack in the coffee storeroom when someone dropped an aerosol canister of whipped cream and it exploded on the floor. Lance had tried to talk him down as best he could while coaxing him to take his Ativan. They insisted he go home after, but he adamantly refused and stayed to finish his shift. He said that he really couldn't lose this job, and that he was let go (which was a nice way for saying "fired") from his last job at a small retail clothing store because of a panic attack he had in front of a customer. Lance did his best to keep an eye on him from the stage.

"Hi, Lance." Shiro adjusted his apron and milled around the coffee machines, systematically preparing a bunch of really complicated caffeine vehicles for sleep-deprived university students.

They settled into a comfortable pattern of small talk while Lance tuned his guitar and Shiro mixed drinks with the precision of a chemist. The cafe's door chimed merrily with the steady flow of customers, and Lance made his way toward the stage at 6:30PM. Incidentally, that was also when he saw Keith walk in with a shorter person, and it sounded like the two of them were... bickering?

"...no, Keith, I think there is a such thing as unhealthy insomnia," the smaller of the pair said snarkily.

"Sure, Pidge, but I'm not there, okay? I'm fine."

They noticed they were being watched and both turned to Lance at the same time. He grinned sheepishly and unnecessarily adjusted the strap of his guitar.

"Hi," he said lamely.

Keith's features darkened and closed almost imperceptibly, but Lance still felt a stab of guilt.

"Hey, Lance," Keith forced out.

His companion, 'Pidge' (who named their kid that?!), shoved out their hand and shifted their huge glasses higher up on their nose.

"I'm Katie, but my friends call me Pidge. Also, I know what you wanna ask, and the answer is that gender is a social construct that doesn't exist in my reality and I choose to identify as an 'experience'. You can still treat me like a girl, though, it doesn't bother me."

Lance shook her hand, grateful for the lack of judgement in her tone.

Keith was looking elsewhere, so Lance focused his attention on Pidge.

"So, how do you know grumpy gills?"

Pidge giggled and elbowed Keith in the side. Well, more like in his hip at the level of the anterior superior iliac spine (so yeah, Lance was studying that earlier. Sue him for being a good student!). "Oh, this giant bag of laughs? I pretty much grew up in his house. Shiro was always babysitting me as a kid, since my parents were always working and my brother was doing school stuff."

Lance raised an eyebrow in confusion. Pidge knew Shiro? And how did Keith's house fit into this... what?

Pidge must've noticed that she lost Lance with this story, and snapped her fingers. "Ah! Sorry, you didn't know Shiro is Keith's brother?"

Lance probably gaped openly at this. _Brother_? Keith heaved a very put-upon sigh.

"Why would he, Pidge? It's not like he's my friend," he grumbled. And, okay, that actually really hurt. Didn't Lance deserve friendship status after the bonding moment they shared at the hospital? He passed out more or less on top of him, fell right into his arms--didn't that count as second base or something? Second friendship base, though. Specifically for friendship.

Pidge was a sharp cookie, because she immediately caught on to Lance's face falling. She gave Keith a light-hearted shove.

"Come on, 'grumpy gills'," she said, complete with air quotes, "your _friend_ has places to be right now, as in that stage over there, and you have a brother to talk to and an extra large vanilla soy latte with 25% foam, two extra shots of espresso, and agave syrup to buy me."

She pushed Keith in the direction of the counter and glanced back apologetically at Lance. Lance appreciated it but it didn't soothe the tide of annoyance that lingered after Keith's statement. He was standing _right there_ , dammit! Way to spare a guy's feelings, Keith.

He marched up onto the stage and adjusted the height of the stool and the mic stands for him and his guitar. He unleashed his devilishly handsome, disarming smile onto the audience of cafe-goers, and let himself get carried away in the music.

Only a few minutes later, Keith had already left, again without a drink in hand. Pidge, however, nursed her comically large paper cup through the night, even staying to listen to Lance's last song.

At some point after Lance finished putting his guitar in its case and getting ready to brave the short, cold walk to his apartment, Pidge ambushed him and tugged him at a brisk pace to one of the tables in the now rapidly-emptying cafe.

"So," she said, draining the last few drops of liquid from her cup and smacking her lips with a purposeful obnoxiousness that honestly Lance was a little intimidated by, "what are your intentions toward my--well, toward Keith?"

"Whoa," Lance said, wanting to instantly diffuse any rising tension. He made a surrendering motion with his hands. "I have no intentions. I mean, no intentions toward Keith. I didn't even know you guys were a thing, not that it matters or anything because of my lack of, you know, intentions. Actually, I thought that Shiro was--but yeah, didn't know about... well anything about him, okay? So you've got nothing to worry about."

Pidge eyed him through her thick, round glasses. She had this seriously dangerous air about her that Lance just could not shake and it was sort of disturbing, especially for someone so tiny and otherwise adorable.

"We're not dating, dumbass," Pidge snarked, and really, the amount of sass in this one small human being was incredible. "He's like another brother to me. Not that I don't get enough brothering, but that still sort of makes him mine. Like, mine to watch over and make sure he doesn't royally fuck up his life and stuff."

Lance wasn't sure if he should be offended by that or not. "Are you... are you insinuating that I would be contributing to Keith fucking up his life?"

Pidge rolled her eyes. "No, Lance. I think he'd be fucking things up for himself if he doesn't make a move on you soon."

Well, that was definitely not what Lance was expecting and he's really glad that he wasn't drinking anything at the moment because it would've come spraying out of his mouth (and possibly nose, ouch) full-on cartoon style.

"WHAT?"

Pidge heaved a sigh not unlike the one Keith had heaved earlier (because he was really clinging onto that emo edgelord reputation or something?) and fixed Lance with a truly frightening glare.

"Keith is probably as close to in love with you as I've ever seen him before, and if you hurt him I will ruin you on every social media platform in existence."

That was actually terrifying.

"Okay? But... I... what? He has feelings for _me_? How do you even know this?" he spluttered.

Pidge folded her hands on the table and leaned forward. "Let me give you a little background. It's not my place, personally, to tell you his whole life's story from the moment of conception to now, or anything, but I think as maybe one of the only human beings he's ever talked to voluntarily and on multiple occasions outside of work or school, you should probably know some stuff."

Lance nodded, feeling really curious in spite of himself. Pidge hummed and continued, "so, first, Shiro is his older brother, and the only family he has. Well, _family_ family, anyway, since he's always got me and Matt. Matt's my older brother, and he and Shiro are best friends. They went overseas together in the army."

"Oh, so that's why the--" Lance wiggled the fingers of his right hand, and Pidge nodded (with narrowed eyes, which Lance understood because yeah that probably wasn't the most tasteful or sensitive way to ask about how someone lost their arm).

"Just... they've been through some shit, okay?" Pidge said this in a softer voice, looking down at her thumbs. "I mean, we all have, but they have gotten through some really shitty stuff, and then Keith... well, like I said, it's not my place to tell you his life's story, but the outcome was him dropping out of medical school and now he's working a full-time job plus two part-time jobs to pay their debts and keep them afloat."

Lance frowned. "So what people are saying about him working at the nursing home and the hospital and the university? It's all true?"

Pidge sighed and suddenly looked really young and really drained. "Yeah, it's true. I wish... well, it doesn't matter now, but I really wish things could be different for him, you know?"

No, Lance didn't know, because there were still so many missing pieces to the puzzle. But he did know that Keith was in a really crappy situation and it wasn't fair. He wanted to help but didn't know how.

"He has a very select few things in his conversational repertoire, and now he won't shut up about you and how blue your eyes are and it's just," Pidge made a gagging noise. "So you'd better not hurt him, okay? He's made it so far in one piece, sort of, and I'll one-hundred-percent destroy you if you end up breaking his heart."

Lance nodded his assent, still somewhat shellshocked and numb.

 _Sure_ , Lance thought privately, _but Keith's heart might not be the only one they had to worry about_.

\-----

Lance didn't remember getting Pidge's phone number but she quickly rose to one of his most-texted people in his phone. Partly because he wanted to talk about Keith, and partly because, well, she was seriously _awesome_ and also let Lance beta test a bunch of cool robots and programs and stuff that she literally made out of random junk from scrapyards and recycling bins. His mother, bless her heart, still texted regularly (sometimes it was just random emojis, and he wondered which of his siblings even downloaded those things on his mom's phone because now she thought she could communicate entire stories with only pictures of cat faces and just... no), as did his father and brothers and sisters, but it was, admittedly, Pidge's texts that had him scrambling for his phone as soon as he felt it vibrate in his pocket.

He still hadn't actually approached or talked to Keith, though, despite now having a detailed work and transit schedule that Pidge devised purely from observation (which was both amazing and scary as hell). He was apprehensive about saying the wrong thing, especially with the new information Pidge had divulged at the cafe the other night. Also, Pidge had come over a few times in the week since then and hit it off smashingly with Hunk, who was also spending more and more time with Shay, his _girlfriend_ , meaning less and less time with Lance, giving Lance more and more time to think about, well, Keith.

Yet, as Keith had so harshly put it, they were not friends. Keith was... Lance didn't know what Keith was to him, beyond the fact that he must be bad for Lance's poor overworked heart and he might just reciprocate those feelings. Lance got the sense that Pidge wasn't the type of person to be wrong about anything, ever, but niggling feelings of insecurity and self-doubt kept creeping into his thoughts. What if Keith didn't feel the same way, and this was all a big, awful mistake? And what if he _did_ feel the same way, but Lance fucked it all up? Keith didn't exude fragility or anything, but the way Pidge talked about him really made him seem... delicate. Breakable, definitely, and it was terrifying.

Lance was on his way to get a coffee from the hospital cafeteria, but made a detour to the gift shop instead.

"Hi Keith."

Keith startled violently, much more than Lance expected. He had been hunched over the cash register, looking like he was reading really intently and holding his head in his hand as he stared down at something. Now he looked completely off-guard, lips parted slightly and eyes wide, stance still rigid and taut.

"Lance?" he said, squinting at him. Lance had never noticed Keith wear glasses before, so maybe he forgot to put his contacts in or something this morning? It'd explain the over-intense reading he was doing.

"Yeah, it's me." Lance shoved his hands into the pockets of his scrubs so the nervous, clammy sweat on his palms wouldn't be so obvious.

Keith blinked slowly a few times. "Hi then, I guess? Are you looking for something in particular?" He rubbed at his eyes and used his thumb and forefinger to press down on the bridge of his nose.

Lance pursed his lips, belatedly realising that he hadn't had a plan for this. "Uh... yeah. Another... uh, another get well card...?" He meant for it to be a statement but failed to keep his inflection even toward the end of the sentence. Fortunately, Keith didn't seem to notice and instead just nodded and rubbed at his eyes again.

"Okay, well, they're in the same place." He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the cards.

"Alrighty then. Um. Yeah, thanks."

"No problem."

The shop was otherwise empty, so Lance counted the seconds ticking by as he looked at the eight "Get Well Soon" card designs a total of twelve times each. He kept picking them up and putting them back again, trying to appear like he was casually shopping but probably coming off more like he had obsessive-compulsive disorder (which he didn't, and he did not, in any way, want to minimize the struggles of patients who did suffer from it).

"So," he said, peering at Keith over the top of more colourful cats. Keith flinched again when the silence was broken, but not nearly as overtly as before. He looked at Lance expectantly. "So, um. How are you?"

Keith's brow drew together like he was seriously contemplating doing a competency assessment to deem Lance mentally unfit to make small decisions like choosing one card out of eight. "Just... working, I guess. How... how are you?"

Lance finally picked one at random and brought it over to the cash register. When Keith reached over to exchange Lance's cash for his receipt, Lance's hand shot out and caught the other's wrist. (Yeah, it might've been coming on a little strongly, but Lance didn't really have time to regret his actions.)

"I'm good, I think. Maybe. Most of the time? But whatever, I was just wondering... if we could, like, go get a coffee sometime? Get to know each other, kind of like a bonding thing?"

A few emotions flitted across Keith's face in sequence: confusion, understanding, hopefulness, wariness, and resignation. It sent Lance reeling.

"You... I don't think that's a good idea, Lance."

Lance pretended that statement didn't crush him.

Keith looked down at the floor as he mumbled, "It's just... it's better for us not to get _attached_ or anything, you know? It's just... it's better this way."

Lance slowly let go of Keith's wrist as the shorter boy gently tugged it away from him. He felt a cold numbness fill the hollow pit of his guts and he let the feeling wash over him.

"I'm sorry. For the record, I..." Keith bit on his lower lip, and Lance still found it horribly cute. "I um, think you're really attractive. I mean, I um... I like... oh, God, I'm so bad at this." Keith ran a frustrated hand through his hair and Lance watched detachedly as it flopped back in his face. He saw an odd, thin bald spot on Keith's scalp in a funny shape, but the glimpse was gone so quickly Lance figured he must've been imagining it.

"I like you too," Lance finally blurted out. He really had no control over his verbal filter when it mattered, ugh.

Keith's mouth curled pleasantly (and probably unintentionally) into a soft smile that Lance really, _really_ wanted to kiss, and the other boy ducked his head to hide the pinkness rising to nestle on his pretty cheekbones.

"You might think it's better for us to... not get close," Lance swallowed thickly, because Keith was probably right (the score was probably Keith: 12398120948124 and Lance: -0.2, but hey, who was even counting in this rivalry of theirs?), and knowing that Lance might not live to see their tenth anniversary even if they started dating immediately... well, it was pretty daunting. But Keith didn't know all of that background, so for whatever reason he thought they were a bad idea, well, it hopefully wasn't worse than a soon-to-be obsolete heart. Nothing hurt quite as much as being left behind, all alone.

Except being alone and never experiencing what love could be like through firsthand experience.

"...but I think it's worth at least one attempt, don't you? Can we give it a chance?"

Keith maintained his silence and Lance felt more and more apprehensive with every second that passed. "Please? We might crash and burn, yeah, but we also might hit it off, you know? I just... I want to be good to you, because I don't think anything really has been going good for you in a long time."

Of all the things that Lance thought might happen, he didn't expect to hear a sniffle. Keith looked back up at him with a film of tears clouding his beautiful purple irises and all Lance could think about was wiping them away with the pads of his thumbs or kissing them off of the corners of Keith's eyes.

A wobbly, watery smile stretched Keith's lips.

"Maybe it's worth a shot."

Lance suppressed the urge to literally jump for joy, and instead wrapped Keith in a tight hug.

"It's gonna be okay. We'll take it slow," he murmured soothingly into Keith's (yes, incredibly soft) hair (which also smelled like peaches, what the actual fuck, it was glorious). "We can just start with a coffee, yeah? Get to know each other, like I said."

He felt Keith nod into his neck. "Okay."

They stood like that for a while, and parted when they heard another customer enter the shop. Lance also really had to get back to doing real work.

"Your friend Pidge supplied me with a kind of worryingly detailed work schedule for you, so I know where you have a few small gaps." There really were not a lot of them, and most were blocked out for transportation between locations. "I think we can figure this out."

The look on Keith's face was so hopeful it was heartbreaking. Lance just prayed that even if things didn't work out, they could be friends someday. Keith didn't smile often, but his smile was so gorgeous; Lance felt that if his personal life mission was to become a pediatrician, one of the side quest objectives would be to make Keith smile and laugh as often as possible. To make Keith as happy as he could in the time he had with him (in the time he had left).

"Okay."

Keith steadily reddened even though his eyes were brighter than Lance had ever seen them, and he coughed awkwardly as he fumbled with Lance's change. Lance accepted the coins, card, and receipt, but scribbled his phone number on the receipt and slid it back toward Keith.

"Text me so I have your number and I'll call you about coffee, okay?"

Keith's lips twitched into a tiny, shy smile, and he nodded.

Lance was so distracted he narrowly avoided walking straight into the glass door of the gift shop on his way out. He was feeling oddly light and cheerful, heading back to the ward with a spring in his step, when suddenly his mind caught up to what just happened and he had to pause to catch his breath.

Holy shit. He just asked Keith Kogane out. Like, on a date. A _date_ -date.

Lance's mind ground to a shuddering halt.

Shit. How does someone date Keith Kogane?

\-----

"So, uh, Shiro," Lance said during a short break from the stage, "what does... I mean, if someone were to want to, say, do something fun with that brother of yours, uh... what... what might you suggest they do?"

Shiro raised an eyebrow as he arranged some drinks and plates of snacks on a tray to carry over to table 18.

"What are you--why do you ask?"

Lance cleared his throat (wow, subtlety was definitely not one of his strong points) and took an exaggerated swig of his ice water.

"Oh, no particular reason or anything," he said, aiming for airy and breezy and missing by a few gazillion lightyears. "Just... you know, asking for a--a friend, is all. A friend who's curious."

Shiro started walking toward table 18 with his fully-loaded tray, and Lance blew out a breath he was too wound up to release in his presence. When the taller man returned to the counter, he eyed Lance with a profound variety of weariness that set Lance's teeth on edge.

"I really hope you're not trying to set Keith up with someone from your class," Shiro said earnestly, "because I honestly think that's the _last_ thing he needs on his plate right now."

"What? Why?!" Lance found himself asking before he could control his mouth. Dammit, lack of verbal filter!

Shiro cocked one hip against the counter and massaged his right shoulder. Sometimes it looked like it got quite sore after a busy shift, and Lance had seen Shiro struggle to carry heavy trays and spill hot drinks because of the tremors.

At once, the man looked so many years beyond his actual age that Lance felt a sharp stab of pity through his stomach. Shiro just looked so _haggard_ , it was painful to see.

"He's not... he's not in a good place right now. He always had so much difficulty with _discipline_ ," Shiro said with a humourless chuckle, "and then after I came back from the army, it's like I created a monster. When he had gone off and done something impulsive and hot-headed, I used to tell him, 'patience yields focus', hoping it would remind him to stop and think before he lashed out at school or got himself into trouble. Now, he's _impulsively_ dropped out of medical school even though it's been his dream since he was a little kid--" (Hm, so Keith had also wanted to become a doctor since he gained real sentience as a small human being. Interesting.) "--and all he ever does is work and beat himself up for so many things beyond his control. He just can't stop. It's like he's punishing himself by pushing away anything that might make him even the slightest bit happier because he thinks he deserves to be miserable. And he... he's so afraid of being alone but he's choosing to be because he'd rather be alone from the get-go than lose people after he starts caring about them too much."

Shiro didn't seem to realise just how much information he'd spilled about his brother, things that Keith would definitely not have told Lance himself (at least at this point in their very new and very tentative relation--er, _friend_ ship). But the idea of Keith pushing everyone away so he wouldn't get attached... well, that was something Keith had already kind of brought up. So it was really quite encouraging that Keith was allowing himself this small comfort of a friend in Lance; it was also the heaviest responsibility Lance had ever carried, and he got the sense that Shiro was sort of subtlely saying, "but no pressure!" in his own weird way.

"Wow," Lance breathed. "Okay. Well. I'll be sure to tell, uh, my friend that Keith is probably more into something lowkey and casual."

"Um, Lance, I just said not to play matchmaker for my brother." Shiro was too polite to say it to Lance's face, but his tone truly implied, 'What the fuck?'

Lance drained the rest of his cup. Breaktime was over, he had to go make people swoon and stuff with his hella sweet crooning.

"Don't worry, Shiro. I promise I'm not trying to set Keith up with anyone from my class or anything like that. I just wanna be his friend, okay?"

Shiro didn't look all that reassured, but Lance gave him a gentle pat on the left shoulder as he picked up his guitar.

"It's gonna be fine. He just needs someone other than Pidge to talk to, because one day Pidge is going to smother him in his sleep for being such a workaholic." Lance paused for a second in contemplation. "Oh, wait, maybe that's why he spends so little time sleeping? Is it a survival mechanism?"

Shiro gave Lance a weak but indulgent smile and Lance took that as the big brother blessing to court Keith and whatnot. (So, it may have been a bit of a stretch, but it totally counted.)

Lance turned away to head back to the stage, but Shiro caught his elbow with his flesh hand.

"Thanks," he murmured softly, "for not giving up on him."

Lance grinned back. "Of course not, buddy! He may act like he's got a ten-foot pole crammed up his ass--" (okay, that was probably not the kind of imagery Lance should have defaulted to while talking to Keith's brother, and not just for the reason that thinking about Keith's ass turned him on) "--but I can tell that deep down, all his poor, lonely soul yearns for is a friend!" (and, hopefully, a lover. But again, not really appropriate in this context. With Shiro. Whose brother's ass Lance was _still_ envisioning, and would need to stop very soon otherwise he'd have a very embarrassing crotch situation onstage...)

As Lance walked away, Shiro shook his head with that same small smile stuck on his face. (Lance might be a really good thing for Keith in the long run.)

\-----

Pidge was an extremely competitive video gaming partner. Lance had never heard so much profanity condensed into so little time before in his life, and he had worked a few spring breaks and summers at one of the resorts in Varadero during high school, where the frequent clients were college kids with too much unsupervised access to their parents' bank accounts and too little control of their liquor intake.

"Oh, fuck me _sideways and upside-down_ ," the younger hissed, flinging her arms up in exasperation as her onscreen character died again. "This is bullshit."

Hunk was perched on one of the arms of the couch, watching her play (and die) with a spoon halfway out of his mouth and a bowl of something that smelled absolutely heavenly in his other hand.

"I'm home, adoring populace," Lance announced with a royalty wave for added flair.

Pidge groaned from her spot on the sofa, "Please say you're better at this game than these dipshits on the internet."

Lance swung his backpack off his shoulders and let it drop gently to the floor beside Hunk's feet.

"Nuh-uh, buddy, no games 'til I get me some of that grub," he warned. He peered over the edge of Hunk's bowl and his mouth watered. His roommate was a veritable _god_ in the kitchen.

"Nom, po-keh," he hummed, putting a lot more emphasis on the last syllable than required.

"Your bowl's in the fridge," Hunk said, resuming his meal as Pidge re-started her level. He watched with rapt attention as she maneuvered through a labyrinth of enemies for the third or fourth attempt.

"Have I ever mentioned how perfect you are as a human being and how much my soul yearns to have you complete me?" Lance sing-songed as he poked his head into the fridge. Sure enough, Hunk had wrapped up a bowl for him and even packed up the fish separately in the freezer so he could heat up the rice and veggies if he wanted after defrosting the tuna in cold water.

"Yup, every day my man," Hunk sang back, and Pidge let out a frustrated growl as she died yet again.

"Ugh, you guys sicken me," she complained loudly, flopping onto her side and stretching out to occupy the entire couch. "I'm sure _Keith_ would be green with envy if he could hear the kinds of gross exchanges you guys have on a regular basis."

Lance snorted into his delicious meal.

"Uh huh, sure. Keith would probably be entirely stoic and aloof and unaffected by mere mortal interactions like ours."

Pidge chuckled, "Yeah, or he'd be jealous like you wouldn't believe and would get angry and challenge Hunk to a duel to win your hand in marriage."

Lance raised an eyebrow as he shoveled another spoonful of gustatory bliss into his mouth. "What? Is he actually like that?"

Pidge rolled her eyes. "Yeah, he's probably the biggest hothead I know. Does things without thinking all the time, it drives Shiro nuts. You should've seen the fight that exploded after Keith dropped out of medical school. It was like a volcano erupted in their apartment, I've never seen Keith get so worked up around Shiro before. And that's including the squabbles they had pre-army, which could get pretty out of hand."

The room went uncomfortably silent at that. Keith still hadn't told them anything about why he dropped out of medical school (or if he even dropped out; there were some more rumours circulating in Lance's class that he might've been kicked out, and stories of the star pupil's expulsion definitely got people chattering no matter how detached and distanced they were from the actual situation).

"Don't you dare think I haven't noticed how much time you've been spending at that nursing home, Lance. You _do_ realise you're a little young to be eligible for a room, right?" Pidge quipped eventually.

Lance tried for nonchalance but he could feel the familiar sunburn-like prickle of heat rising to the tips of his ears. "Well, you can never be too prepared..."

"Too prepared for what? A staring contest with Keith's butt? Because in that case, good for you! You're getting all the practice you need, Lance," Hunk chimed in. Traitor.

"I don't even spend that much time there!" Lance exclaimed, one arm flailing out to help him articulate his point (probably not the most effective means of illustrating his mature, logical reasoning, but whatever). "I just stop by to say hi and stuff."

Pidge snorted. "Right. Say hi. And, you know, get into arguments about stupid shit like whether or not Pluto should still be a planet or what Beyonce should've named her twins."

"Hey, I can't help it if he's a giant prick 98.7% of the time!"

Hunk's spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl as he added, "Well, he's only starting the fights like, 50% of the time, so I guess it stands to statistical reason that you're being a giant prick, too."

Lance pouted as his so-called friends high-fived on the couch while he stood with a hip cocked against the fridge and determinedly enjoyed his meal (which was really fucking awesome; he would still love Hunk until the end of time no matter how heinous his betrayal).

They lapsed into a truce, of sorts, as Lance chewed moodily and Hunk and Pidge watched him eat (creepily).

"I'm really glad, though, honestly," Pidge admitted, still staring off into some space Lance and Hunk couldn't occupy, at least not in this dimension. "Before you guys started bickering like an old married couple, he was withdrawing from everyone so much I hardly saw him. I still hardly see him, but when I do, he looks so much happier. Or, at least less emo." Her face was lit with a serene smile. "And you guys haven't even kissed or anything yet!"

Lance was unfortunately subjected to the stinging burn of masticated rice entering his nasopharynx. He coughed and spluttered, reaching frantically for a napkin to blow his nose into.

"What the fuck, Pidge?" he wheezed, still semi-choking, "before you try to assassinate me with your savagery, I will have you know that I am simply waiting for the right time to lay my patented McClain moves on that asshole friend of yours. If I get the timing perfect, I'm gonna sweep that bitch-faced mulleted bitch off his stupid feet!"

Hunk, to his credit, at least tried to keep a straight face. Pidge burst out laughing immediately, and Lance had to put some legitimate effort into maintaining his irate expression with Pidge almost literally busting at the seams.

"'Bitch-faced mulleted bitch'," Pidge choked out, hardly able to achieve reasonable inspiration to support life. "I _can't_ , Lance, oh my God!"

They succumbed to the sound of Pidge's hysterics; eventually the laughter subsided and all three of them were breathless and grinning goofily at one another.

"So, Lance, are you gonna help me beat this level or what? Hunk has been NO help--" Hunk gave a 'what-can-ya-do' shrug "--whatsoever, and I swear it is more difficult to find good co-op help online than it is to buy German dungeon porn!"

Lance placed his bowl and spoon in the sink with a grimace. "Okay, calm down, Pidge. That was really not something I wanted to have in my mind's eye right after eating, thank you very much." He walked to the end of the couch and nudged her knee with his socked foot. "C'mon, shove over! Let's kick some alien-ninja-pirate ass!"

Pidge whooped in excitement and Hunk slid down to sit at Lance's feet. They all had studying to do, but for now, they were content to waste some time hanging out and discussing the merits of pirate ships as vessels for intergalactic time travel.

"Wait, Pidget, can you even legally search German dungeon depravity online?"

"Wow, Lance, first of all: fuck you. Second, I'm twenty, not twelve!"

"Wait, so you were actually trying to buy that shit?"

"Oh my _God_ , Lance," Hunk squawked.

\-----

The weather was wonderful the next day, and Lance whimsically decided to drop by the hospital gift shop right before Keith's shift started. He had been hanging around for a few minutes whenever Keith was working, usually waiting half an hour after finishing up his last tasks for the day to see him. Sometimes he'd round on his patients one more time before heading out, which Thace interpreted as impressive initiative but was really just Lance killing time until Keith started working at 6:30PM. (Plus, he really did love those kids.)

Then he'd have all his stuff packed and he'd poke his head into the gift shop just to loiter and talk to Keith, interrupting the book the other was reading behind the cash register.

"A customer told me the new greeting card display is awful," Keith said, completely deadpan. Lance gasped theatrically and splayed a hand over his chest.

"What? Someone was dissatisfied with my artistic expression of goodwill? That I did to help someone out? From the goodness of my humongous, beautiful heart and stunning, poreless skin?"

Keith raised a dark eyebrow, narrowing his eyes and causing his eyelashes to create dark fan-shaped shadows on his cheeks.

"Did you just say your skin is associated with you putting the card display up for me yesterday?"

Lance flicked his wrist at Keith like he was trying to shoo off a persistent younger sibling. "It doesn't matter, I took those cards and I slayed that display with my quick wit and disarming, boyish smile."

"...Lance, you literally just changed the card display from genre categories to alphabetical order."

"It was an artistic expression, you neanderthal!"

"What? How is that _artistic_?"

"How are _you_ so ungrateful? I saw you with that giant box of cards, and I helped you put them up in the display rack."

"I'm not ungrateful! I'm... I'm very grateful. Thank you." Keith did that thing where his eyeline got sucked into some black hole between the balls of his feet that only he could see. Lance cursed himself for finding it as cute as he did.

"Well, you're welcome." A pause. "Dick."

Keith rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Asshole."

Lance rested his elbows on the counter and leaned toward Keith over the glass.

Somehow, the original conversation quickly turned into Lance recounting a story about his first experience babysitting his four younger siblings in nail-biting detail. He loved the way Keith's eyes traced his every movement, wrapped around every word that left Lance's lips. Occasionally, the other boy's rapt attention was stolen by a customer that wanted to get some flowers or a stuffed animal for their ill or injured loved one in the hospital, but Lance never found it difficult to pick up exactly where he left off.

And so it went--Lance would pop by wherever Keith was working, and if he was lucky, he'd catch Keith on a fifteen-minute break and they'd sit together somewhere, elbows touching and thighs pressed together as their bickering eventually devolved into Lance telling more stories about his childhood, his siblings, his parents, his abuelas and abuelos, his aunts and uncles and countless cousins and how they each played a major role in developing his life thus far.

"..and so he set up the bank account for me, called it 'Lance's Dream Fund', and that's how I'm here today. The scholarship paid the tuition but my godfather... he's the one that really kept the dream alive for me."

Keith smiled into his coffee cup.

"I think you kept your own dream alive because you worked for it. The scholarship and the Dream Fund were just the tools you've been using to do it so far."

Lance felt something tentative, warm and pure blossom and unfurl in his chest. It was nestled into the space his heart would have taken up if it was the right size, the right morphology. It seeped into all the scars piercing his chest, all the old staple tracks and suture lines that held him together like a child's favourite and often-repaired toy.

Toys break, and they can't always be fixed.

"I'm gonna die one day," Lance said, still cautiously cradling that flicker of hopeful warmth in the hollows between his ribs, spilling into the deepest recesses of his chest cavity like a newborn flame with the potential to grow or to sputter out and die. He wanted to shield it, cup it in his palms and breathe life into it until it consumed him like the fire he still saw at times in Keith's eyes.

Keith played with the rim of his paper cup, curling and uncurling the stiff edge with his blunt thumbnails.

"We're all gonna die someday, genius," he quipped, no real bite to his tone. Then, Lance turned to face him, their knees knocking awkwardly, and he caught one of Keith's bony wrists in a tight, fearful two-handed grip, because shit, _he was gonna die someday_.

Blue eyes met violet like the edge of the sunrise, dappling the sky in gold and promises of new days and second chances.

"No, mullet-head. I'm going to die one day, and we won't be doing this anymore. I won't sit here with you, drinking coffee and telling you about everything that Juan or Sofia or Mariel or my mom or my dad or _anyone_ ever did with me. Someday, my brothers and sisters will be putting me in the ground and I won't be there to dry their tears at my funeral or hug them or hold them ever again. This hospital's coffee will still be disgusting and black and nothing will change for you, but I'll be dead and eventually you're going to forget me."

His throat was thick, swollen with tears, and he couldn't remember when he started trembling. Keith extended his arm, hesitated, then finally let it rest just above Lance's knee.

"Hold on there, Dr. Doom," he said softly, eyes holding promises Lance knew he couldn't keep but wished he could, anyway. "Just because everything will end for us someday doesn't mean we have to stop living for what we've got." (Lance refrained from commenting on Keith's inability to take his own goddamn advice. This asshole almost didn't want to " _get too attached_ " before even giving someone as amazing as Lance a chance to be his friend? Yeah, fuck that shit.)

Lance snuffled, and he hated crying so much because it made too much adrenaline run through his blood and he could pass out with snot and tears caked on his face. He also hated looking this weak and small in front of anyone, especially Keith, who always seemed to have it together, unfazed by everything that came at him. Keith stroked calming fingers through his hair and somehow managed to rearrange them so Lance's head was pillowed on his thigh and the rest of his body was curled up on his side on the hospital waiting room bench, Keith's red jacket draped over his torso. Keith sat completely still with one foot tucked in the little divot behind his other knee, save for the hypnotizing rhythm of his fingers combing and tenderly massaging all the anxiety out of Lance's head.

"But it's my heart, Keith," Lance whispered, not even sure if it was loud enough for Keith to hear. It was already 10PM, and visiting hours were over--Keith still had to go back to the gift shop and close it up, but the entire hospital lobby was empty except for them and the occasional nurse, doctor, or porter in scrubs scurrying by.

"I know, Lance," Keith hummed back. But he didn't know, and even though they'd gone a few weeks now with just snapshots of conversations while Keith was working or miraculously between shifts, suddenly Lance really wanted to tell him. He rolled onto his back, staring up into pools of infinity framed by thick, dark lashes.

"No, I mean... my heart is the reason I'll die someday. I had Tetralogy of Fallot when I was born, my heart was so fucked up. They said I was lucky that nothing else was wrong with me. But then my luck ran out." He pressed his palms to Keith's cheeks, letting his fingers tangle in the other boy's incredibly soft hair as it curled slightly at his nape. "I had to have so many surgeries before I even started preschool, and there were so many complications. Infections, graft rejections, you name it. Eventually they did what they could and said I would need a new heart to see any day past my thirtieth birthday."

Keith's gaze was trained intently on Lance's face, supernova intense. Lance felt the tears trail cold and stinging into his hairline, eventually soaking into the leg of Keith's ratty jeans beneath his head.

"We're still waiting," he whispered hoarsely. "There's no heart, and there isn't going to be a heart. There isn't going to be a thirtieth birthday."

He sniffled, releasing Keith's face and turning to hide his own in Keith's hospital employee polo. The fabric was soft and smelled of discount laundry detergent. He rubbed his nose in the cotton, deciding to forget to feel guilty about it while he felt so bare and raw.

"Hey," Keith said firmly, sliding his hand under Lance's cheek to turn his face back up. "If there's one thing I've learned about you, Lance Mc-fucking-Clain, it's that you are not a quitter. Don't you dare give up hope now."

Lance choked back a fresh wave of tears, feeling his heart do the scary flip-floppy thing it did sometimes when he noticed how beautiful the shafts of sunlight slanting over the planes of Keith's face were, or when Keith joined in to sing with him when he talked about the set he was planning for the Castle Cafe ("I only know the words because you sing them so often, like, all the time. You're such an annoying douche, jeez." "Nah, you're just remembering because I've got the voice of a smooth, Spanish Justin Bieber and you also don't want to admit that you love One Direction songs just as much as tweenie-boppers of the female variety." "...Fuck you." "Only if you ask nicely, sweetheart.") because damn, everything about Keith was just so _beautiful_ and it was painful to think about letting him go, leaving him behind. The fragility he hid behind his sinewy runner's build and too-long hair and gruff exterior just made him even more beautiful to Lance, like the stained glass windows in the church his family would go to every Sunday while he was growing up. It was hard to spend so much time with someone who made you almost literally pass out every time they so much as smiled in your general direction; it was equally hard to spend any moment away from them.

Keith's eyes were glazed over with tears, but none of them spilled onto his marble cheeks. He held Lance's face in one warm palm, looking down at him with a halo of yellow fluorescent light outlining his face in an ethereal glow.

"So you've got a time bomb in your chest. Whatever. Nothing you can't deal with, because you're going to be Dr. McClain and you're going to change the world."

Lance laughed, a punched out, exhausted sound that scraped its way out of his tear-clogged throat.

"Okay. I'm okay with a bomb. I've always wanted to be in a James Bond movie." He sniffled and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, wishing it would stem the flow of tears. "Or, you know, at least go on a roller coaster ride. 'Cause it'd be nice if my cardiac output could deal with a little more adrenaline."

His hands were gently pulled away from his face, replaced by the rough pads of Keith's thumbs wiping away the rest of the tear stains on his cheeks.

"If you make a joke about me being a Bond girl, I will castrate you," the other boy warned, and Lance laughed again. "But I promise, I will do everything in my power to defuse that bomb."

"Wouldn't that make you Bond and me one of the Bond girls?"

Keith rolled his eyes. "If that'd make you happy..."

"No! I wanna be Bond!"

"Ugh, you're such a dork!"

"No, I'm suave as fuck."

"Whatever you say, you're the doctor."

 _You could be, too_ , Lance thought, _it's not too late. Why'd you give up in the first place?_

Security came by at around midnight and essentially ejected them from their comfortable tangle of limbs. Keith locked up the gift shop with a faint smile, and Lance couldn't resist tracing the curve of his lips over and over with his eyes. When they walked to the bus stop side by side, Lance let their hands brush a little more often than usual, stretched out his fingers, and Keith curled his pinky and ring finger into Lance's, shyly averting his eyes. Lance grinned, and he was sorry the bus came so soon.

\-----

June rolled all too quickly into July, and Lance was on his emergency medicine rotation meaning his sleep schedule was completely fucked up but he found a lot more free time on his hands. He used this time to clean up the apartment, because it was seriously in need of a good vacuum and a mopping (and the tiles in the bathroom needed re-grouting but he wasn't in a rush to do that; his mother did not raise him to be a slob but he certainly was not a sanitizing saint, either). Hunk was also enjoying a little more time at home and with Shay, because his trials had been going really well in the lab and he mostly had to do some writeups for his next upcoming committee meeting.

This meant that Pidge was over at all hours of the night to play video games and sit and study with them in their cramped living room, all of them with their work splayed out on a different surface and various pieces of furniture. Very occasionally, Shiro and Pidge's brother Matt started popping by at Pidge's suggestion (but like, why didn't they visit Pidge wherever the fuck _Pidge_ lived? Of course the youngest of their group basically treated Hunk and Lance's apartment like it was her own, but inviting people to another person's apartment was a breach of boundaries Lance could not muster the indignation to address since he actually enjoyed the company so much). They always brought groceries or other edible things, which was a plus, because honestly Lance hated grocery shopping and Hunk never had the time, so if Lance wanted to eat he was usually the one who had to make the biweekly trek to the supermarket.

Even more rarely, Keith would join them for a movie or a few rounds of Super Smash Brothers and if they were really lucky he'd stay awake the whole time. Otherwise, he would eventually be conked out on Lance's shoulder, tucked tightly into his side and drooling on Lance's T-shirt (which Lance made a big deal out of but secretly he didn't actually mind that much. Sort of. Except for his one Star Wars T-shirt that he loved and would forever be tainted by Keith's sleep-spit on Princess Padme's glorious face, no matter how many times he washed it or how there was no visible stain. It was the _principle_ of it). Then he'd startle awake, look panicked for a full thirty seconds or so, which then morphed into mortification and a disproportionately profound level of shame. He'd give Lance an apologetic nuzzle to the underside of his jaw ("Ugh, guys, what the fuck, get a room!" "Shut up Pidge.") and sleepily slip on his shoes and head back home. Each time the offer to stay and spend the night got closer and closer to the tip of Lance's tongue, but it hadn't yet actually made it out of his mouth.

"So, still haven't kissed yet, huh?" Pidge wheedled from her sleeping bag on the floor. The other thing that the summer brought was tons of sleepovers, because Pidge was out of school for the break and had only online coursework to get a few extra credits (that she didn't even need to graduate, she just wanted to take for funsies and couldn't fit into her elective slots). She was on some crazy full ride for software or information technology or programming or something of the sort, but took a lot of mechatronics classes for interest's sake. The robots she made were getting progressively more sophisticated and wicked cool, though, so Lance kept his teasing to a minimum. Keith had told him a little more about how much of a mad genius Pidge was, and it was too frightening a concept for Lance to delve any further into. He was happy to live in his blissful ignorance while Pidge won tons of prestigious awards and scholarships and stuff that meant that they didn't have to get a part time job or perform gigs at the Castle Cafe for extra cash like some mere mortals. Matt wore his pride for his sibling like a glowing neon sign on his chest, and it made Lance ache with homesickness, wondering what his own siblings were up to at home in Cuba. They Skype called him every weekend, but the thirty-minute updates really weren't enough to feel like home and the different time zones limited how long they could stay up to talk to him.

"They held hands once!" Hunk piped in, and to Lance, it seemed as though his best friend was making a relationship criteria for him and ticking milestones off as they developed in his and Keith's relationship (holding hands: check; couple-y banter: check, check, checkity-check; making out: ...whatever the sound that tumbleweed makes, that's what goes there).

Pidge groaned and wriggled in her sleeping bag like a giant space worm until she was next to Lance, who was only just now thinking how stupid it was for him to sleep on the floor with his roommate when both of them had nice comfy beds not even ten steps away. His cerulean eyes met Pidge's, and he inwardly sighed. The things he did for the people he cared about.

Instead of the usual twinkle of mischief behind Pidge's thick glasses, there was an eerie maudlin glimmer that settled uncomfortably in the spongey hollow trabeculae of Lance's bones.

"Do you ever think about deadlines?" she said, and Lance winced at her probably unintentionally poor (or was it intentionally perfect _and_ morose?) word choice. _Deadlines_. He shuddered in his own sleeping bag, which was lined with two more blankets and an extra pillow for him to put between his knees when he balled up on his side. Sure, it was summer, but summer in North America really did not hold a candle to Varadero or Samoa, where he'd spent most of his summers up until now (add the overzealous air conditioning of their apartment building, and Lance worried he'd have to wear a parka to bed).

"All the time," he answered honestly. He heard Hunk hum in agreement from his opposite side. They were both living on borrowed time, as they'd explained to Pidge before. Without a heart and a healthy set of lungs (or even just one), the two of them would run out of sand in their hourglasses.

Pidge bit her bottom lip thoughtfully. "If you were told you'd die tomorrow, would it make you do anything different?"

"I'd ask Shay to marry me," Hunk said without hestitation. "I'd buy the most expensive ingredients I've ever wanted to cook with, and I'd make her an incredible dinner and ask her to marry me. I don't even know if I'd get a ring, I would just want her to have the best meal of her life." They'd been dating for a few months now, but Lance understood how powerful urgency could be as an amplifier for feelings like love, guilt, and regret.

Pidge tilted her head toward Lance expectantly.

"I'd... I'd go home to see my family. I want to spend that last day with them," he said, and Pidge's honey-tinted gaze bored holes into his skull. He avoided meeting her eyes, opting to stare ahead at the ceiling instead. "And... maybe I'd bring Keith with me, so they could meet him. So he'd... he'd have people to take care of him, after I'm gone. Mama would need someone to eat all the grief cooking she'd be doing, and God knows Keith needs a few hundred good meals in him before he approximates a normal BMI."

Quiet settled over them like a blanket of snow, sleepy and soft.

"Do you love him?" Pidge whispered. Hunk had already nodded off, based on the pattern of his breathing. Lance could easily have pretended the same, but he licked his lips and answered, "I think I'm getting there."

"Will you tell him?"

"Someday."

"What if you die tomorrow?"

"Then tomorrow is someday, and I hope I get to tell him before it happens."

The sky outside the window was pitch black pierced with pinprick stars, tracing out shapes and stories that Lance's father used to tell him with Lance's tiny, chubby hand grasping his finger as it drew pictures on an infinite canvas to illustrate those legends and folktales. Lance's blue eyes were wide in his small face, cheeks plump with youth and innocence and the love of a nurturing family. The scars in his chest were fresher then, pinker, like new mountain ranges not yet worn away with age. In the white windowframe, the sky transitioned to dappled grays and muted purples with the first streaks of rusty sunlight to signify daybreak. It had been a long time since Pidge asked her question, but Lance kept turning it over and over in his mind, like he asked his Papi to trace and re-trace Ursa Major and Ursa Minor with taut squeezes to his father's index finger.

"If I die today," Lance said, and it felt like a prayer as it tumbled out of his mouth, "I hope I make him smile at least one last time."

A few seconds passed and Lance's eyelids filled with lead and sand until he was drifting off to sleep, too. Faintly, he heard Pidge mutter, "Fucking sap."

\-----

It was a rare Sunday off for Keith, and Lance didn't have an emergency room shift until the next afternoon. Lance always had an inkling, a niggling intuition that Keith was not inherently a morning person; that morning he was proven very correct.

Of course, it was also 8AM on a Sunday, and most people Lance's age that didn't have to be up by that time wouldn't be. He supposed it was a _little_ much to ask of Keith to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, especially after a twelve-hour shift, 6AM-6PM, at the nursing home the day before. Then he'd picked up a last minute gift store shift to fill in for one of the ladies that had a young daughter because her aforementioned daughter picked up an awful stomach bug. Keith was finally able to collapse in bed at around midnight and Lance guessed he was not at all planning on moving until 24 hours later, if he had his way.

Shiro was the one who let Lance into the apartment, clearly surprised to see him. Lance was shifting his weight from the ball of one foot to the other. When he had raised his hand to knock, Shiro was already opening the door, dressed for work.

"Lance?" he said as though even he didn't know if it was a question or a statement.

They blinked at each other awkwardly (wow, they had astounding social aptitude) for a few seconds before Shiro stepped aside to let Lance into the small apartment he shared with his brother. It was in one of the sketchier parts of town, but still within a twenty minute walk of the university. Lance had never been there before--Keith had never invited him outright, even though Pidge frequented Keith's apartment almost as often as Lance's; hence, Lance knew the address. (In retrospect, Shiro wouldn't have known any of that, so Lance probably seemed like a psycho stalker or something. But, also in hindsight, it's not like Shiro would've known how Lance knew their address, anyway, so it could've been Keith that told him. Well, regardless, it never came up since they didn't talk much during their excruciatingly awkward exchange of... blinking at each other.)

"Is uh... is Keith here? He's supposed to have the day off today."

Shiro's puzzled look cleared like clouds after a rainfall.

"Oh, yeah! He's in his room, but he's probably still asleep. He's usually a very light sleeper, but he's been tired lately and once he's out he's been sleeping like a log. If you have trouble waking him you're still welcome to make yourself at home. Help yourself to whatever you want in the fridge or the cupboards."

Shiro made a short sweeping gesture to said fridge and cupboards, which were small and very close to one another in the little kitchen. Lance nodded.

"I gotta get to the cafe, so I'll see you around. Good luck waking Keith!" Shiro chuckled and waved at Lance with his flesh hand. When the door closed behind him, Lance heard the scratching and scraping of a lock in the door.

Unlike Lance's apartment building, it seemed that Keith's had no air conditioning at all. There were fans in every room, humming and oscillating steadily, creating a background buzz of noise that was sort of relaxing and pleasant. The lights were all turned off, and all the windows were wide open. It wasn't too hot in there, but the humidity from outside clung to Lance's skin even indoors, and that was kind of gross to marinate in.

He allowed Keith a grace period of half an hour, after which he opened what should have been the only closed door in the apartment. Intuitively, it would lead to Keith's room, because--oh wait no, it was the bathroom. Who the fuck closed their bathroom door if they weren't in it?

Lance continued to play the game closely related to Russian Roulette: "Is this closed door a bathroom or a closet?" and found that the next door he opened was indeed a closet. Well, now he knew where the towels were if he had to find them.

There was only one other closed door left, and this was getting ridiculous. Lance huffed as he turned the knob and threw the door ajar.

It was dark inside because Keith had the blinds shut, but Lance heard the drawn-out groan and saw the lump of blankets move on the twin mattress. It was just a mattress on the floor--no bedframe or boxspring.

Lance could tell that Keith was hovering between sleep and wakefulness, so he pounced on where he assumed Keith's legs would be and was rewarded with an elbow to the nose and a knee to the groin. Somehow, Keith reversed their positions and he was straddling Lance's hips with his hands braced on Lance's bony shoulders while Lance clutched at his smarting nose.

"What the fuck?" he yelled. He was grateful his nose wasn't bleeding.

"What are you doing here?" Keith asked, not completely awake and therefore not completely copus mentus. Lance would've found his sleepy confusion and pillow-mussed hair adorable if he hadn't just been ferally attacked.

"I came to see you, jackass," Lance said, watching Keith's face warily. "But you tried to kill me!"

Keith blinked slowly, eyes still fogged over with slumber. He rubbed at them with his left fist, which unbalanced him and nearly sent him toppling off the mattress. Lance quickly grabbed Keith's (silky smooth, pale, and fucking _bare_ ) thighs to rescue him because he was a fucking gentleman. Gentlemen didn't let their moronic deadly bedheaded friends fall to their deaths. Keith reflexively threw both hands forward and ended up hovering with his arms braced on either side of Lance's head.

They were locked in a wordless battle of wills (yet again). Lance felt the blood rushing to his face (and to other places, fuck, fuck! This was not a good idea, Jesus fuck...) but his hands were still holding Keith's thighs in a tetany-like grip. He knew if he kept this up his palms would become increasingly more sweaty and clammy against Keith's stupidly flawless skin. Why were his legs so fucking smooth? His lips and cheeks were rosy and he still had the dreams hidden in the folds of his pillow inscribed on his right cheek. It was cute as fuck. This was zero percent okay. This was subzero levels of okay! Negatory okay! NO-FUCKING-KAY!

Just when Lance thought he was going to die of embarrassment (or blood loss to nonvital parts of his anatomy that he would still like to have attached to his body by the end of this ordeal), Keith groaned and shifted his weight so he could lay his head back down on Lance's chest. One of his bare legs was still thrown over Lance's (still very much interested and standing at _nearly full attention_ ) pelvis, which should have been basically illegal, and his arms bracketed Lance's ears. He could feel Keith's quiet breathing against his neck. He wasted an entire minute being absolutely friggen' mortified before he squawked, "Did you just go back to sleep? What the actual FUCK, Keith?!"

"Shut up, 'm still tired," Keith mumbled, voice vibrating against the mattress and Lance's mandible. Uh, okay, this may have actually been worse than Keith's ass pressed against Lance's awakening, er, lower anatomy. Lance's face felt sunburnt, and he bit the inside of his cheek to concentrate on the pain rather than the Keith's weight on top of him and the sharp jut of his hipbone just above Lance's.

"You can't go to sleep like this, what are you doing?" Lance couldn't have wrestled the desperate note of panic out of his voice even if he had the presence of mind to want to.

"I can. I will. Shut up."

Lance raised his own arms, not really sure what he was going to do with them, but then let one rest across the small of Keith's back and the other reach up to the nape of his neck to twirl a few strands of Keith's hair between his fingers.

Keith was warm and comfortably heavy, and he smelled like the sea. Lance supposed it was whatever cheap soap the Koganes had in their apartment, but it was also infused with something sweeter and maybe a bit floral. He turned his nose into the crook of Keith's neck and tried to subtly nuzzle into the scent there, inhaling deeply.

The sheets and blankets were all strewn in a mess around them, but Keith was pleasantly supple curled on top of him (and exuded heat like his own personal furnace, which would be nice in the winter but not so much in a cramped no-AC apartment in July) and the weight made Lance feel secure. If this is how swaddled infants felt, Lance wanted to sign up immediately (provided there was some sort of clause regarding proper ventilation and temperature control).

Time drifted by without either of them noticing, and the next time Lance dragged suspiciously gritty eyelids open, the clock on the floor opposite the bed read 11:43AM. His lips were pressed partially open against the slope of Keith's throat, and there was a small puddle of drool soaking through the pillow of which he would begrudgingly have to admit ownership (he was an honest gentleman, not a horrendous _monster_ , for chrissakes).

"Keith," he groaned, craning his neck to get his mouth closer to the shell of Keith's ear. "Come on, get up! It's almost noon."

Keith grumbled back unintelligibly, the vibration of his voice making Lance's skin tingle.

"Let's _go_ , sleepyhead. I had plans for today!"

Keith lifted his head at that, peering down at Lance with squinty purple-gray eyes and adora--ugly mullet in complete disarray.

"Plans?" he said, cocking his head slightly to the side in an expression so innocent and guileless that Lance's heart melted a bit, not that he'd ever ruin his manly image to tell Keith that.

"Yeah, dumb shit, plans. Even your incredibly stunted social skills should be able to comprehend that, no matter where you fall on the autism spectrum."

Keith scoffed, "You don't think that's kind of an offensive way of describing autism spectrum disorders?"

Lance sighed. "Dude, I wanna be a pediatrician someday. I am not trying to make fun of people with autism."

Keith's bottom lip jutted out slightly and Lance refused to call it cute, even in his own private thoughts. It wasn't cute!

"It sounded like you were trying to use that as an insult though."

Lance threw his head back against the pillow and grunted. "Okay, okay, I take it back. Happy?"

Keith had the audacity to snuggle back down, arms tightening around Lance's ribcage and leg slithering between Lance's knees. Whoa, this was venturing extremely fast into uncharted and very much dangerous territory!

"Uh, w-what are you doing?" Lance stuttered out, cursing himself for being unable to keep his voice steady.

"Goin' back to sleep," Keith slurred, face already hidden in the pillow and Lance's hair. His limbs were already becoming loose and heavy.

"No! No, no, no. No more sleeping! The day is already half-over and I have _plans_." Contrary to the stress Lance put on the notion of these plans, he still allowed his arms to wind around Keith's body as it sprawled half on top of him like a skinny, slightly knock-kneed octopus. One hand came to rest against the dimples by Keith's spine (his S2 vertebral level--medical school meant that literally everything became studying to Lance) where the other boy's baggy crewneck had ridden up. His pinky just brushed the upward curve that lead to the swell of Keith's (unfairly shapely) butt. Lance felt his face heat up and pointedly prevented his hand from meandering any lower, guiltily absorbing heat from the soft bare skin beneath his palm.

Keith just hummed, breathing soft and slow. Seriously, how long could this guy _sleep_?

"Hey," Lance said, going for a gentler approach and giving Keith a slight shake, "please wake up? I'm asking nicely this time, don't you dare ignore me!" (Okay, so much for "gentler".)

Keith finally withdrew his bony extremities and rolled off of Lance and closer to the wall. He pushed himself so he was propped up on his left elbow, regarding Lance with a sour expression (which was kind of ruined by the fact that he had one eye open and the other squeezed shut, but again, not cute at all).

"Fine, I'm up. How did you even get in here, anyway?"

Lance took a satisfying stretch, realising he could probably take up the entire space on the bed if he wanted (judging by the annoyed hiss that came from Keith's direction, that would not be at all appreciated). "Your brother let me in, duh. And is that any way to speak to a well-meaning friend that you mauled in your hardly decent state?"

Keith looked crestfallen for a second, but then his features were quickly schooled into his usual annoyed face. "You, my _friend_ , basically broke into my room. I reacted out of self-defense. And obviously I'm not decent--this is my bed, my room, and I should be free to wear whatever I want to sleep!"

(Ugh, no, Keith should _not_ be allowed to wear whatever he wants, not when it was just a pair of tiny micro-shorts that clung to his ass and a giant worn-out sweater that probably belonged to Shiro and hung off of Keith's shoulders, exposing the sharp lines of his collarbones and making Lance want to lick them. He kind of wanted to follow every line of Keith's body with his tongue, but he really shouldn't think those things while lounging in said person's bed. Fuck.)

Lance didn't have a witty retort, which was completely out of character for him as the world's funniest and smartest man, but he decided to let Keith think he won the exchange just this once. Keith rubbed at his eyes with the back of his left wrist, swamped in the sweater that swallowed his hands and only allowed his fingertips to occasionally peek out. Ugh, the way that stupid sweater freakin' _engulfed_ Keith was doing bad things to Lance's heart. Thin slits of sunlight adamantly shone through the spaces between the blinds, reminding Lance that the daylight was quickly burning out.

"Alright, you're up, you lazy asshole. Get dressed and maybe we can still make it through the plans I had for today."

Something about the way Keith's mouth went slack and soft, his lips forming a sort of vertically squashed "o" shape, made Lance think that Keith was surprised he wasn't lying or exaggerating about having plans. For real. Keith seemed so caught off-guard he forgot to hide the hopeful light in his eyes. What, had no one ever made plans with Keith before or something?

It wasn't the line of inquiry that one normally pursued if they planned on surviving until lunch, so Lance tucked it away for later.

Lance waited in the living room/kitchenette area. There was a demarcation where the tiled kitchen floor became hardwood paneling in the living room, and Lance's big toe was still smarting from stubbing it on the slightly raised area. His socks offered no protection from the impact.

A few minutes later, Keith emerged from the bathroom clad in gray sweats and a black unbuttoned henley. Lance cursed those perfectly sculpted collarbones that teased him from the small V dipping down from Keith's throat, where a thin chain glinted at certain angles, disappearing underneath the thermal fabric. Keith's hair was pulled back into a perky little ponytail at the back of his head, a few wispy strands escaping and framing the nape of his neck and his bangs floof-ing loose over his forehead.

Lance was rooted to the spot for a moment before Keith awkwardly cleared his throat and averted his eyes, picking at the hem of his left sleeve.

"Uh, so... I guess we'd better get going to wherever it is you wanna go?"

Lance shook off the temporary paralysis from 'wow, Keith's ponytail is so fucking cute' to reply, "Y-yeah, let's go. You take forever to get ready in the morning, Jesus."

Keith pressed his lips into a thin, embarrassed line, and Lance clapped him on the shoulder to help loosen the tension. "Whatever, it's fine. Come on!"

He slipped his shoes back on as Keith laced himself into a pair of old black combat boots. Keith tucked a set of keys, his phone, and his wallet into his pockets before shrugging into his red and white jacket.

"Where are we going?" he asked, sounding unreasonably apprehensive. It wasn't like Lance was going to kidnap him and sell his organs, no matter how rich that would make him.

"You'll see. We're already late, thanks to you, so no dilly-dallying!"

Keith rolled his eyes but followed Lance out the door, locking it behind him.

\-----

Lance originally planned on bringing Keith out for breakfast, but by the time they actually made it to one of his favourite diners nearby the university it was already almost one in the afternoon. He figured lunch was okay too, as a first date. Or whatever it was they were doing here, now, outside of their usual haunts in the hospital or the other establishments of Keith's employment.

"You're really... chipper, in the morning," Keith mused, sipping at a small cup of coffee. Lance figured Keith would drink it black (just like the bastard's soul), but Keith actually took it sugarless with more milk than he statistically should have been able to tolerate, as an Asian male in his early twenties. The hot beverage swirling in Keith's little mug was so diluted by dairy that it was lighter than Lance's complexion (he was well-loved by the Varadero sun all his life, it showed, and he was proud of it).

Their meals came and they enjoyed them with the odd quip back and forth. Overall it was comfortable, and Lance might have even gone so far as to describe the experience as fun.

When the bill arrived, Lance valiantly waved off Keith's attempt to pay for his own lunch. He cut off any argument with, "Chivalry isn't fucking dead, okay? So just shut up and let me treat you."

Keith's teeth clicked together audibly and his eyes were wide, filled with that same innocent wonder that piqued Lance's curiosity as well as sparked his sympathy. It was like he couldn't believe someone was making a genuine effort to be nice to him. Sure, Keith never struck him as a chatty Cathy or a popularity contest winner, but he did seem to be surrounded by a few people at all times and it sounded like he had some really close friends, too (okay, maybe just Pidge and her brother, but that for sure counted as like a million people for even just Pidge). He also had Shiro and the two of them seemed thick as thieves and all that jazz.

"Thanks," Keith said quietly, chin lowered almost to his chest.

Lance waved his hand in the air flippantly. "No worries, man. I'm happy to treat you!"

"I appreciate it, really. Thanks. But--"

Lance playfully cut him off, "I'm brilliant, handsome, and I'm courting you, what more could you want, you ingrate?"

Keith was stunned into silence for a second, before a smile spread across his face. ( _There_ was everything Lance sought to accomplish for the day.) He let out a little huff of a laugh, and Lance felt like someone poured sunlight into the very air he breathed, filling his airways with golden warmth that steeped into his blood.

Bill paid, they left the diner with their elbows knocking lightly against one another.

"Where to next, Doc?"

"You'll see," Lance promised with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

\-----

Hunk and Pidge met them at the laser tag place at around three. They had gotten bored waiting for Lance's go-ahead that morning, so when Lance and Keith arrived they were laden with garbage bags full of random parts they salvaged from the local recycling depot and probably a few other dives around town.

"You guys aren't planning on taking over the world with an army of androids, are you?" Keith asked warily. Pidge winked at him and shot finger guns in his direction (oh God, Lance didn't expect to be so freaked out to see his own mannerisms depicted by another person).

"You bet!"

Hunk smiled good-naturedly and adjusted the weight of one of the hulking bags of metal scraps over his shoulder. "Don't worry guys, we'll make sure they recognize you and you won't get killed or anything."

Lance pumped his fist in the air and whooped. "I've always wanted to be the star in a post-apocalyptic android-robot sci-fi movie!"

"Who said anything about a movie?" Keith groused, sounding legitimately confused. He probably thought he missed the memo on the imaginary movie Lance mentioned.

"Stop being such a party pooper," he griped back.

Keith crossed his arms over his chest. "I just don't understand how you expect to star in a movie that isn't going to exist."

Lance threw his hands up in exasperation. "It was just wishful thinking, can't a guy dream? Jeez!"

Hunk held out a placating gesture. "Let's just go in and shoot each other so we can work up an appetite for dinner, okay?"

They conceded easily, and again, Lance paid for Keith's games. The shorter boy looked distinctly uncomfortable, but Lance beamed at him reassuringly.

"Hey, I got you, dude. I'm the one who dragged you out on your day off in the first place, the least I could do is make sure you have a good time."

Keith's cheeks stained a pretty shade of pink as he looked away and muttered, "Thanks, Lance."

Lance winked at him. "I mean, we could've had a good time back in your bed, but I already told Hunk and Pidge to meet us here today and I'm not one to be rude and stand my friends up."

His comment was met with a chorus of groans. ("Ew, gross!" from Pidge, and "Seriously, what the hell man?" from Hunk, who also covered his face with his hands. Keith didn't say anything but his face steadily reddened over the next few seconds.)

The games themselves were fun--Keith and Lance versus Pidge and Hunk. What Keith lacked in skill with the laser gun he made up for in leaps and bounds with speed, agility, and quick thinking. He often left himself wide-open to Pidge and Hunk's superior strategies when he went on the offensive, but it was mesmerizing to watch him twist and spin out of the general trajectory of their opponents' lasers. He dodged, dove, tucked and rolled like an expert, and he was pretty much unstoppable once he got in close enough. Pidge and Hunk held their own with their combined battle plans that made them difficult to catch and almost impossible to hit. Lance, on the other hand, was deadly at long-range. He had near-perfect aim, which was reflected in his comically high score and 100% accuracy rating; Keith wouldn't have been able to wipe the impressed look off his face even if he tried. Lance couldn't shake his shit-eating grin for the rest of the day, literally jumping in the air triumphantly. Victory was twice as sweet when he saw the fondness that overcame Keith's entire posture, letting him bend slightly toward Lance in a subconscious effort to get closer. Life was good, even as Lance's pulse raced and his fingertips went numb. It'd settle on its own soon enough.

"You have amazing fucking aim," Pidge exclaimed. "That was awesome!"

Lance winked at them, miming finger guns much like she had done to Keith earlier that afternoon. "You know it, Pidget. If you need a sharpshooter, I'm your guy."

Hunk gathered them all in for a disgustingly sweaty hug, but spirits were high all around. Lance met Keith's eyes overtop of Pidge's head, both their cheeks smushed against Hunk's hulking chest. With his hair plastered to his forehead and even more strands escaping his now ruined ponytail, face flushed and eyes bright, Keith was positively _glowing_ ; Lance counted his breaths to counteract the blackness encroaching on the edges of his vision from how overwhelmingly full his heart felt at the sight.

They were supposed to go to Lance and Hunk's favourite pizza place for dinner, but they were all so gross and exhausted they ended up back at Lance and Hunk's apartment to take turns showering. Hunk went first so he could heat up some leftovers for them to chow down on (and let's be real, leftovers made by Hunk would beat out most other food every single time, hands down). The rest of them spread out on the couch in a mass of sore, achy limbs and goofy smiles.

Eventually, they were all freshly showered and feeling a lot less sticky (Lance had to remind himself not to stare at Keith, whose wet hair was dampening the collar of the V-neck shirt he borrowed from him. Seeing Keith in his clothing was a health hazard in and of itself, but something about the plain black tee and the blue pyjama pants that both fit a bit long and a bit loose on the other boy made Lance's breath stutter in his chest). They sat on the floor around the small coffee table in the living room to eat some delicious curry-based chicken dish thing out of IKEA bowls with Netflix running on their crappy little TV. Lance was feeling too content with the moment to even pay attention to the alien movie on the screen, letting the sound fade out as background noise to the hushed but heated debate Keith and Pidge were having about some weird space conspiracy theories. It sounded like revisiting an old and yet unresolved argument between the two.

"...no, I'm telling you that the evidence exists, it was just covered up by the government so no one would go looking for it!"

"Keith, you moron, the government is shit at pretty much everything except wasting healthcare dollars." (Ouch. Lance was sure the political people doing political stuff were doing their best...) "So of course the evidence exists, but it's very much _findable_."

"That's not even a word, Pidge!"

Pidge stuck her tongue out at Keith in a display of dominance and maturity.

"Doesn't matter, I'm still right!"

Hunk was the only one really watching the movie, but none of them would really care about the plot of the film by the end of the night. They gradually migrated up onto the couch to play video games, where they had to squeeze a bit to all fit together on the cushions, but they managed somehow. Keith was pressed right up against Lance's side, and the Cuban boy was acutely aware of every point of contact between them. Keith was warm, just like he had been that morning, and their shoulders were so close together that it would just take a tilt of their heads just _so_ and their lips would be touching.

Lance swallowed thickly, trying to concentrate on the game that Pidge and Hunk were demolishing each other in. It was already a lost cause for him and Keith, but they made a valiant effort to contest Pidge's inevitable victory.

Once they were both eliminated and it became a showdown between the two expert players, Lance let his eyes wander to the side of Keith's face. The smooth planes and edges were illuminated by the flickering, fluctuating blue from the TV, and the reflections dancing in Keith's eyes created a much more interesting picture to watch than Hunk having his ass handed to him by someone half his size. The rest of the match didn't last long, and Pidge shot up with a joyous holler when she finally won. Hunk was a graceful runner-up and gave her a high-five from Lance's other side.

For a break in all the action, they put on another alien movie. This time, Pidge was curled up on top of her sleeping bag on the floor with a pillow on her lap and a bunch of blankets pulled up over her head and shoulders. She rested her back against the sofa between Hunk's massive, chiseled calves (sculpted from years of Samoan dancing), leaving Lance and Keith still closer than was warranted for how much space was left unoccupied on the couch, but no one commented. They shared another blanket as the chill night air mixed with the air conditioning left the apartment feeling much cooler than before.

Lance crept one hand along the seam of their thighs, slowly reaching toward Keith's knee but giving him plenty of warning to pull away if he wanted to. Instead, Keith's hand met his under the covers, the shorter boy's eyes never leaving the TV. Lance let his fingers slip into the spaces between Keith's and bit down on the inside of his cheek to control the smile that wanted to break out over his face as Keith clasped his hand around Lance's.

At around midnight, Pidge was out cold on the floor, head lolling on Hunk's right knee and glasses askew on her face. Keith was similarly KO'ed on Lance's shoulder, his hair silky against Lance's cheek and smelling like Lance's totally masculine peach-scented shampoo (full disclosure: he bought it because of how nice and peachy Keith's hair had smelled that time they got tangled up in the hospital gift shop), which only made his chest feel swollen from the inside.

Tonight, when Keith stirred and blinked sleepily up at Lance, Lance asked him to stay. The uncertainty settled like a mask of stone over Keith's face, and he shook his head. Lance tried not to let himself look as disappointed as he felt. It was Keith's decision whether or not to spend the night, and Lance let him know that the offer would remain standing for Keith's next visit, and every visit after that. Keith's grateful smile erased all elements of disappointment from Lance's mind completely--full delete, no stop off in the recycling bin, immediate defrag. Shit, he really was spending an unhealthily copious amount of time with Pidge and Hunk.

"Thank you for having me today," Keith whispered, voice barely above a breath. Lance rubbed his cheek against the top of Keith's head and brought his opposite hand over to circle Keith's wrist, playing with the hair elastic he found there. He let his fingers enclose Keith's wrist without any true strength, so if Keith wanted to resist and break free he could do so. Keith didn't move.

"Yeah, of course," Lance responded, voice a little hoarse from nerves. Well, it was now or never. He licked his lips. "I wanted... I wanted to ask you something, if that's okay?"

Keith lifted his head from Lance's shoulder to meet his gaze, and his head was just slightly cocked to the side. His stormy violet eyes appeared almost completely shiny black in the dim light, dark hair falling into them. Lance hesitated for a moment before gingerly stroking Keith's bangs away from his line of vision.

"Um, I... I uh, wanted to ask you to--" Hunk snored loudly and Lance jumped slightly, too tightly wound for this. Keith hid a smirk behind his hand and Lance shot a meaningless glare at his sleeping best friend. How rude! Interrupting this monumental moment in his life and his relationship with Keith, jeez.

Lance turned back to Keith sheepishly, who was now looking much more awake and staring at Lance expectantly.

"I wanted to ask you to be my boyfriend," he finally said in a rush, feeling like a deflated balloon that just had every modicum of air whoosh out of it. A beat passed, and then another, and Lance felt like each heartbeat was getting painfully tighter and faster.

Keith's expression fell into something incredulous and slightly sad. "I... I thought we already were. You know. Boyfriends." He turned his face away from Lance, focusing intently on his right hand balled into a trembling fist beside his knee.

Lance's eyes widened in shock, but it wasn't all unpleasant. He felt his heartbeat in his ears and he was a little lightheaded, but was it because of his dysfunctional heart or the emotion fuelling it? He'd never know.

He threw his head back and let out a bark of carefree laughter that he only just remembered to truncate after the sound shattered the sleepy quiet around them. Hunk let out another loud snore and Pidge moaned and repositioned so she was burrowed into her sleeping bag.

"Then let's make it official?" he breathed, feeling like he couldn't get enough oxygen. He was seeing bright white floaties and his lips were kind of tingly and cold and maybe going numb, but Keith looked absolutely _delighted_ , and fuck, if that wasn't going to accidentally cardiovert him then no amount of adenosine or electricity could.

"Are you serious about that?" He looked back at Lance steadily, expression so hopeful and earnest that Lance wanted to tuck it beside that baby flame of _hope_ and maybe _love_ in the folds of his lungs around his determinedly beating heart.

"As serious as a pulmonary embolism on a pirate ship with no anticoagulants in sight."

Keith smacked his hand against his forehead. "Oh my God, Lance! Your gallows humour is awful."

"It's technically thromboembolic humour, excuse you."

"What the hell is up with you and fucking pirate ships, anyway?"

"You love it, don't even try to lie."

"Ugh, you're such an idiot."

"But you loooooove me!"

"...Yeah. Yeah, I do."

It was a confession Lance wasn't prepared for but he now realised he was certainly ready to hear.

"Me too," he said, wrapping Keith's hand in both of his own. He leaned forward to press their foreheads together. "I was getting there before, and now I'm there. I love you, too."

Keith's eyes fluttered shut, lips upturned and so, so close. Lance just had to lean another centimetre forward...

"Can I change my mind?" Keith murmured, peering at Lance with the distance between their faces so minimal that it looked like he just had one giant eye. For a second, Lance choked on air and felt like his scarred, deformed heart had literally fallen out of his anus.

"Don't jump to conclusions, you idiot," Keith hissed, warm hands on Lance's cheeks bringing him back from the brink of a dramatic and probably very unflattering death, "I meant... can I change my mind about staying over?"

Lance's devastation quickly morphed into a huge grin.

"Of course, you fucking asshole."

They grinned at each other like idiots in love (which they _were_ ) for a few more seconds before Keith went and opened his big dumb mouth again and ruined it.

"Pirates are more likely to have scurvy than throw pulmonary emboli though, aren't they?"

\-----

Lance would never be ashamed of taking impeccably good care of his skin. He had a rigorous regime every morning and every night to ensure that he put his best foot (and face and hands and torso and yeah, everything else) forward. Hunk was a very considerate and accommodating roommate, and let Lance take his time in the shower (because it was Lance's thinking time, his daydreaming time, his "Lance time", and time for some other stuff that every guy does even though most don't wanna admit it in public).

He was, however, moderately annoyed that in the time it took him to do his morning routine (which was usually exactly thirty-four minutes, give or take the time to make sure he got all the exfoliant out of his eyebrows), Keith disappeared from the swathes of blankets on Lance's bed, where he had been sleeping soundly when Lance snuck out from under the covers to make sure he was in tip-top condition to face the day. It was only 5:55AM when Lance surfaced from the depths of good hygiene, and all that greeted him in his room were some rapidly cooling sheets and a pillow knocked askew, as well as the T-shirt and pyjama pants he'd loaned Keith the night before now folded neatly on his nightstand. He grumbled to himself about Keith abandoning him for most of the morning as he ate his breakfast and headed to the hospital for his 6:30AM emergency room shift, but the thunderclouds above his head dissipated when he received a text shortly after arriving at the hospital.

**From: Mullet**

_sorry i left without saying bye, was gonna be late for work. see u later?_

 

**To: Mullet**

_u'd better b sorry u butthole!_

_yeah c u l8r_

_< 3_

 

**From: Mullet**

_< 3_

\-----

It was always shitty whenever Lance or Hunk got a cold, because something that was relatively benign to a regular person was potentially deadly to them. And even when it wasn't actually bad enough to be life-threatening, Lance would certainly make it out to be.

"But baaaaaabe," he whined, voice coming out nasally because all his sinuses were crammed full of snot, "I'm dying here!"

Keith sighed into the phone, but still sounded patient when he said, "Lance, please don't joke about that."

Lance felt a twinge of guilt. He forgot that Keith was still adjusting to them being in a relationship and accommodating Lance's quirks, one of which was a really flippant manner of addressing his own mortality. It visibly pained Keith when Lance made offhand comments about dying, so usually Lance tried to keep those comments to a minimum around him; yet there were still times he slipped up.

"I'll be there when I clock out of the gift shop, okay? Just stay hydrated and get some rest 'til I get there, okay?"

Lance pouted but knew it had no effect since his boyfriend (dang, it still made him giddy to think that) couldn't see him through the receiver.

"Okay," he conceded. Hunk had come in earlier with a mask and rubber gloves to clean out all of Lance's used tissues and to supply another box along with some over-the-counter cold medicine, some Tylenol, and replace his bottles of water. Hunk was truly a saint; Lance just hoped he didn't make a martyr out of his best friend, who was walking through a minefield by coming even close to contacting Lance's nasty infectious virus-infested tissues.

At some point he did fall asleep half-folded over a plastic wastebin, drugged up to the eyeballs on dimenhydrinate (also known as Gravol) to try to wrangle down the nausea. When he woke up it was pitch black outside and Keith was sitting on the side of the bed, strumming gently on Lance's guitar and stringing together the lyrics of a song Lance had been working on composing the week before he came down with the viral infection from hell.

"Hey," he croaked weakly. Keith turned to him, placing the guitar back in its case at his feet and withdrawing his hands guiltily. He smiled gently and pressed a cool hand to Lance's fevered forehead.

"Hey," he hummed back. "How're you feeling?"

Lance moaned and leaned into Keith's touch. "Like the shit that shit would shit out if it could shit."

Keith chuckled softly and it made Lance smile despite how sore and achy he felt. At least his stomach seemed to have settled.

"Okay, Doctor Snotty, let's get you wrapped up. Do you want some water?"

Lance nodded and Keith helped him sit up to sip some water. It was blissfully cool as it went down his raw, shredded throat.

"Come on, get back under the covers," Keith said, coaxing. Lance let the sound of his voice soothe the pounding in his temples as Keith drew the blankets up over him. It reminded him of when his mother and father used to stay home with him if he got sick or as he recovered after his cardiac surgeries.

"Can you... will you sing to me some more?"

Keith went from looking astonished to embarrassed, eyes flitting down to the guitar and back to Lance's face.

"I um... you had it out, and I... um... if you really want me to, I guess?"

Lance nodded and snuggled down into the covers some more. Keith reached for the guitar, but then seemed to think better of it and spooned up against Lance from on top of the covers, lips brushing the back of Lance's neck. Lance couldn't suppress the slight shiver that ran through him at the sensation, which Keith mistook for chills and wrapped his arms tighter around Lance's middle as if to hold the heat in the blankets.

The words started slow, hesitant, shy; then Keith seemed to gain a little confidence as Lance went slack and fluid against him, and sang more audibly. His voice was sweet and clear, and if it didn't fill Lance's heart to overflowing with love and admiration it might've clogged it with envy. He was just drifting off to sleep when he was suddenly able to place the mismatched lyrics that tumbled from Keith's lips.

"That... my song... you weren't supposed to hear that," he mumbled, voice muffled by the covers pulled up over his chin. Keith's forehead rubbed against his nape, and he imagined the colour rising to the shorter boy's cheeks based on the heat he felt exuding from him.

"I um... Shiro sent me a SnapChat video from the cafe," Keith breathed, sounding ashamed. "He heard you practicing in the back room."

Lance kept his eyes closed. "I'm not mad, Keith. I just... it was supposed to be a surprise. How many times did you watch the video, anyway?"

"As many times as I could replay it every day since Tuesday," Keith confessed without preamble. It was so bluntly honest Lance couldn't help but smile, even with his splitting headache.

"Keep singing," he requested. Keith complied.

Eventually, they both fell asleep.

\-----

Lance was pretty sure Keith caught whatever he had, judging by the way his boyfriend was holding his head in his hands and shying away from the light. He looked completely _wrecked_ , making Lance wonder how bad he'd looked when he was sick. Luckily, his illness this time around hadn't lead to a hospitalization, which was always a win in his books.

"Do you want me to get you anything, sweetheart?"

Keith shook his head, but quickly aborted the movement with a grimace. He looked a little green around the gills and Lance shoved a bucket in Keith's hands before the other threw up.

"Thanks," Keith groaned.

Lance stroked back his hair and held it away from his face.

"Anytime, babe."

\-----

The more time Lance was able to spend with Keith, the more he began to pick up on through his mannerisms and idiosyncrasies. One thing he did not know, however, was that Keith was prone to some really bad migraines that left him so nauseous he could barely stand. Keith never volunteered any information about it, though, and everything Lance learned had to be through isolated observation. Hence, Lance thought the upchucking would all finish once Keith's body fought off the cold, but he was proven violently incorrect with every heave of Keith's rebelling stomach. Of course, the stubborn asshole still insisted on going to work, and would try to control the pain by popping a few Tylenol and naproxen before he left. Sure, maybe he could hide the pain itself while he was at work, but Lance was pretty sure no employer would be cruel enough to make Keith stay once he started puking his guts out.

He tried not to be vindictive when Keith texted him a few hours later as he trudged home.

 

**From: Mullet**

_heading home, couldn't stop throwing up. gonna nap._

 

Then, a few minutes later, either as an afterthought or after a moment of deliberation--

 

**From: Mullet**

_love you_

 

Lance smiled and shook his head.

 

**To: Mullet**

_love u 2, u freakin idiot_

\-----

Wednesday was a full day of classes for Lance--lecture followed by a few more lectures followed by a tutorial that was useful at best and mind-numbingly boring at worst. He was grateful to hightail it out of that godforsaken classroom at the end of their last tutorial, which was an incredibly bland discussion about gastrointestinal embryology.

"I couldn't stop yawning, y'know? It was like Dr. Slav's talk was a giant dose of sedatives first thing in the morning, and I just sorta tuned out." Lance dropped his head into his folded arms and groaned. "Now I gotta read about SSRIs and SNRIs and S-something-R's-and-I's because I couldn't stay conscious for psychopharmacology!"

Pidge looked entirely unimpressed and Hunk patted Lance's shoulder in sympathy. They were crowded around a table technically for two at the Castle Cafe, and Shiro had just come and gone with their drink orders.

Normally, Lance didn't spend too much time at the cafe on days other than Tuesday. It was kind of strange to be sitting at a table rather than at a microphone, but he found it quite pleasant to just relax with something warm and caffeinated to drink.

The cafe's incessantly chipper bell chimed, announcing the arrival of new people. Something compelled Lance to turn to look, even though tons of people had been entering and exiting the cafe in the last hour or so. He swiveled in his chair (not being subtle at all), and his breath sputtered out in his chest like a dying flame.

Keith walked in with a _girl_ that Lance had never seen before (and Keith had certainly never introduced him to, what the fuck? The dude literally had no other friends, right?), his hands in his pockets but her arm looped in the crook of his left elbow. She was gorgeous--long, platinum-white hair that shone even in the cafe's crappy fluorescent lighting, and mocha-coloured skin that contrasted with her jewel-like, crystal-blue eyes. She looked like she walked straight out of the centrefold of a fashion magazine, with a perfect complexion Lance couldn't ever hope to achieve no matter how religiously he applied his facial masks nightly.

An ugly feeling crawled its way up Lance's esophagus, cinching tight across his windpipe and curdling in his mouth, heavy and disgusting. The slim woman's voice carried over the chatter in the cafe.

"--darling, you really should eat something before you head back." Damn, she even had a posh European-sounding accent. How was Lance supposed to _compete_ with this?

Keith grunted and tried to shrug her off, but she held fast. Lance wondered if he was slowly developing an aneurysm just watching the exchange. He could feel his pulse in his temples (temporal arteritis?) and he was gritting his teeth so hard his jaw was beginning to hurt (or was it jaw claudication? Ugh, no he didn't have giant cell arteritis, he'd just done too many readings for rheumatology). He and Keith had already been officially dating for a few months now, but clearly they needed to work on their fucking communication skills some more, because apparently Keith had been _cheating_ the entire time.

"I will be _fine_ , Allura," Keith insisted, sounding particularly exasperated.

Pidge perked up immediately when she heard the lady's voice.

"Oh! Hey, Allura! Keith!" She waved the pair down, and a bitter piece of Lance inwardly groaned before he could bury it in false cheer and flirtatious smiles.

"Pidge!" Allura wasted no time in vacating Keith's side to gather Pidge in a huge hug. Keith followed her like a shadow, silent and almost brooding. Lance didn't feel like his mood could get much darker, despite the jovial greetings between Pidge and this... woman.

"Guys, this is Allura," Pidge introduced her to the group. "She's known me and Keith for _ages_."

Keith didn't make eye contact with anyone at the table. Lance seethed quietly, but forced himself to smile as pleasantly as he could muster. He even reached for Allura's hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles.

"She's much too lovely to associate with _Keith_ ," Lance murmured, laying the patented McClain charm on as thick as he could. "Why would a princess choose to be with a frog when her prince has been here all along?" He waggled his eyebrows at her, still internally wounded and acting on fierce retaliatory instinct. Well, if Keith was seeing some girl behind his back, no matter how new and fresh their relationship was, then Lance had every right to butt in as much as he could.

Pidge frowned, but Lance ignored her. He wanted to play this up for all it was worth, Keith was still watching. He gave Allura's hand a gentle tug, pulling her closer to the table as he stood and let his other arm come around her waist.

"I gotta say, Miss Allura, you might just make my poor heart sick if you won't agree to join us for coffee."

Allura twittered attractively, and maybe at another time, in another life, Lance would've been smitten. Instead, he found himself dragging another table over and pulling out a seat for Allura but his eyes never dislodged from Keith's face, where they were locked onto every minute change in expression he could find. So far, there was none--Keith's face had been shuttered, feigning disinterest since the moment he walked over with Allura.

"So what do you all do?" she asked genially, steepling her fingers together and sitting with such perfect posture Lance's back hurt just looking at her. "Any friend of Pidge's is a friend of mine, of course."

Lance pointedly overlooked the fact that she specified Pidge and not Keith, who was still standing awkwardly next to Allura's seat. His eyes shifted from the counter back to the table every so often, but clearly his mind was not present.

He and Keith were just sort of getting to know each other for real at this point, after all, and their relationship was mostly thriving through snatching moments to chatter during Keith's breaks in the lab at the university or between his jobs. Sometimes Lance would pop by the nursing home or the hospital gift shop just to bring up something that would be mundane to anyone else but was controversial between the two of them, because they could figure out a way to argue about whether cereal was a soup or a salad if they were just in close enough proximity for a sufficient period of time (0.01 seconds). As much as Lance tried to coax more information out of Keith by sharing little anecdotes about his own life and family and adventures in medical school (which, to be completely honest, he probably would've ended up talking about until Keith was bored to tears anyway), Keith listened intently but remained infuriatingly tight-lipped about himself (besides the look of awe and wonder that came over his features when Lance was too absorbed in his stories to notice). Maybe he had been seeing Allura the entire time and that was why.

Well, as much as Lance's weak, scarred heart ached, Keith was busted and now there'd be hell to pay for stringing him along. Two could play at this game.

"I'm a medical student," he said, puffing out his chest a bit and draping an arm over the back of Allura's chair. He may have seen Keith's eyebrow twitch, but he wanted to barrel full speed ahead. "If you want, I could go get my stethoscope and listen to your heart. I'd be happy to give you a full physical, _free of charge_." He wasn't really sure where the sexual innuendo and bravado was coming from--he and Keith had not broached the subject before, but they had talked enough for Lance to know they were both virgins.

Allura cleared her throat politely. "Thank you for the splendid offer, but no, thank you. I think I've had quite enough of that from Keith."

Lance's ego deflated a bit, but he kept up the facade to save face in front of Keith, his self-declared sworn rival in everything (now including love, and in more ways than one). "I've been told I have a soothing touch, if you know what I mean."

This time, Allura's impeccably glossed lips thinned into an unforgiving line. "No, thank you."

Pride bruised, Lance slouched into his chair and let Hunk introduce himself to Keith's girl... friend.

"I'm Hunk. I'm a PhD candidate in biomedical engineering, and Lance is my roommate and best friend. He's just an all-around awesome guy."

Keith let out a derisive exhale at that. "Yeah, real awesome." Lance met his glare with as much fire as he could muster in his heartbroken, deeply wounded state. He couldn't quell the rise of fury that boiled in his veins; he fixated on the other boy with harsh, unrelenting rage.

"What the hell is your problem?" he hissed. Keith met his gaze coolly, arms crossed over his chest in an attempt to look more threatening but really it made him look smaller. His eyes were blank but the swell of his bottom lip was bitten and raw, and something about the whole picture he presented came across as... vulnerable.

"I don't have a problem," he said flatly, shaking his head and letting his eyes drop to the floor. "Not anymore," was added as a watery, barely-audible afterthought.

It was anticlimactic, for sure, and the four of them watched Keith walk to the counter in short, clipped steps. He caught Shiro's eye as soon as the elder came out of the back room, wiping his hands (flesh and synthetic) on his apron. A few brief words were exchanged, Shiro nodded, and Keith dipped his head again, staring resolutely at the floor as he beelined for the exit. The happy jingle of the cafe bells was a stark contrast to the mood that befell the people left behind.

"Forgive me for being forward," Allura cut in, "but what, pray tell, was _that_?"

Lance couldn't rein in the anger now that it had burst forward, and his mouth was spilling words before he could sift through them first.

"Shouldn't you be following your _boyfriend_?" he snapped, venom lacing every syllable.

Allura looked dumbfounded, and that's when the guilt began to filter through to Lance's senses.

"Oh my God, Lance, what the fuck?" Pidge raged, standing abruptly and making the ceramic cups and saucers rattle against one another. "Did you actually get all pissy and grossly flirtatious like that because you were _jealous_?"

Well, when she put it like that, it made Lance sound very juvenile and third-grade-playground-y.

"I think I have a right to be pissed off when I find out my boyfriend of three months or so has already got a girlfriend," Lance ground out, opting to first acknowledge his fury and deal with the guilt later.

Pidge dropped her head into her open palm, pulling off her glasses to massage the bridge of her nose.

"You're such an idiot, Lance," she said, but instead of sounding angry she just sounded exasperated. Lance wasn't sure if that was _better_ than pissed off, because it sure made him feel a hell of a lot worse as his own anger dissolved into confusion, and nothing was left to mask the guilt.

"What's going on?" Hunk finally asked, and Allura looked equally lost.

"He thought you were Keith's girlfriend, Allura," Pidge explained, and Allura frowned.

"Why on God's green earth would you think that, Lance?"

Lance threw his hands up, not sure what they wanted from him. "Because you came in basically holding his hand? Isn't that what couples do?" (It was certainly what _Lance_ wanted to do, or _continue_ to do, rather. With Keith. Maybe for the rest of his life. But his chances of that actually happening were likely dwindling quickly down to nothing based on this massive fuck-up on his part.)

Allura shook her head with her lips pursed.

"I was dragging him in here, I suppose," she mused, perfectly shaped eyebrows drawn together in deep thought. "But I am most definitely not dating Keith."

Pidge rolled her eyes. "Yeah, because she's fucking dating _Shiro_ , you asshole. And _you_ are dating Keith." She delivered a swift smack to the back of Lance's head.

Oh. Oh shit. Lance rubbed the back of his head gingerly. He probably deserved that, then.

"How was I supposed to know that?" Lance shot back, but it was a weak rebuttal.

Pidge scoffed. "Wow, do you really think so lowly of him that he'd cheat on you like a scumbag? Do you think I'm a scumbag too, since, as you are now insinuating, you think I'd just forget to tell you Keith was dating someone? Other than you? Right now? You think I'd just be all, 'Oh, sorry Lance, by the way, this is Allura and Keith's been simultaneously dating you and her this whole time, whoops'?"

Hunk had his arms crossed over his chest, quietly pensive.

"God, Lance, I know we dick around and stuff but I'd never be that intentionally cruel to you. I'd never want to hurt you like that, you dumb shit. And obviously Keith thinks the sun shines out of your ass, so the _last_ thing he'd ever want to do would be to intentionally hurt your dumb fuckboy feelings. Now you've basically flirted with one of Keith's only other friends in the world and flaunted that in front of him!"

Allura seemed genuinely apologetic about the whole ordeal, which just made Lance feel even more shitty. This was entirely his fault. He often griped and complained to Keith that they couldn't spend enough time together or go out on a real date because of the other's hectic schedule, and here he was accusing Keith of somehow simultaneously dating someone else? Pidge was right, it didn't make sense. He teased Keith about being temperamental and impatient during their banter but Lance was here unable to control a little bit of jealousy and making a mountain out of absolutely nothing. Furthermore, he had implied that Keith would be so insensitive and inconsiderate of Lance's feelings as to actually two-time him, which was unfathomable, _especially_ with a _girl_. Keith may not share much about himself, ever, but he was quite open about his homosexuality. Out of the two of them, Lance thought he felt the most insecure in their relationship, constantly afraid to say or do the wrong thing and drive Keith away. However, now he realised that he had blinded himself to the possibility that Keith might have felt the same way, and now Lance had pretty much confirmed any thoughts Keith may have had about Lance not trusting him in this relationship.

"I should've introduced myself right away, Lance," Allura said, all placating hand motions and apologetic eyes that did absolutely nothing to assuage Lance's guilt. It settled heavily in his stomach like sediment. "Keith has told me so much about you, I assumed he would have also told you about me, and that was my fault. It must have been quite a sight, I know Keith isn't usually very tactile with people." (Well, that was also the understatement of the century.)

Allura wrapped a long, slim arm around Pidge's shoulders. The smaller of the two was still quaking with leftover infuriation. Hunk mirrored Allura's action, pulling Lance into his side.

"Hey, buddy, you made a big mistake," his best friend said soothingly, "but everyone makes mistakes. It's not like you can't make it up to Keith later. But maybe you need to explain to him why you jumped to conclusions so quickly and reacted so strongly." Hunk gave him a knowing look, and it made Lance's insides shrivel. He wanted to just wither and die right then.

Because at the root of it all, he felt worthless. Seeing a girl on Keith's arm made him immediately question his value, question how much Keith actually loved him, if at all. It was like a knee-jerk reaction, a spinal reflex deeply encoded in his DNA. He knew he couldn't compete with someone like Allura, if it came down to it. He didn't think Keith would ever _choose_ him, and that hurt. He already knew he'd be second priority--to Shiro, to work... Everything and everyone else in Keith's life seemed to come before Lance. For all his cocky pretenses and self-imposed titles of prowess, Lance was just a boy far from home with only a partially-functional heart, who couldn't handle being too happy or too sad or too deeply in love with someone who didn't love him back. He loved far too easily for someone with a heart of glass, which could shatter and kill him at a moment's notice (kind of in a Takotsubo's cardiomyopathy sort of way but a lot less romantic and more just pathetic).

Allura reached a hand across the table, but drew it back after a second. She tried to catch Lance's eyes, but he resolutely refused to look at her out of shame, guilt, and self-loathing.

"I know you didn't just lash out to hurt Keith," Allura said, unfairly calm. "I think you really do need to talk to him about your feelings, though, Lance. I know Keith tries to pretend he's tough and unaffected by his emotions, but he's actually much more sensitive and emotional than you think." She took a deep breath. "He's also not blameless in this situation--I really don't understand why he didn't just correct you right away. You made leaps of logic on very shaky ground."

Lance shrugged. It's not like he could read Keith's mind. He sat and wallowed in his misery until Shiro stopped by their table, stoically distributing their hot drinks. He begrudgingly allowed Allura to pull his face in for a quick peck to the cheek.

"Anyone care to explain to me why my brother left in such a mess?" Shiro ground out, barely keeping his voice even and above a growl. Lance shrank back. Shiro seemed so sanguine and zen (though melancholy) most of the time that he wouldn't have been able to picture him losing his cool if it wasn't happening right before his eyes.

"I said some things I shouldn't've," Lance squeaked out. Allura frowned and added, "But Keith didn't really do much to make the situation better, darling."

That really did not appear to be what Shiro wanted to hear, but some of his coldness diffused with Allura's words. Lance figured he knew she was speaking the truth.

"He didn't answer any of my questions, and when I told him not to do anything rash or stupid he just spat at me, 'Yeah, patience yields focus, Takashi', and left."

"What does that mean?" Hunk asked while Lance simultaneously said, "Takashi?"

Sure, that's what he latched onto out of everything Shiro just said.

Shiro sighed and wiped his hands on his apron. "Takashi is my first name, Shiro is just what everyone calls me because my parents used to--nevermind. Anyway, like I think I mentioned to you before, 'patience yields focus' is what I used to tell Keith as a kid to make him stop and think before he did or said something he'd regret. Most of the time, it was enough to get him to cool off before recklessly tackling a problem head-on, or punching another kid in the face."

"Well, I'm the problem this time," Lance admitted, "and I guess I'll just give him some space before talking to him about it to avoid the punch to the face."

Shiro's eyes narrowed. "That would be wise," he agreed, tone wary and clipped. "Enjoy your drinks."

He dropped a kiss on the crown of Allura's head before he left.

"He's not usually this scary," Pidge explained (unnecessarily, though, because Lance had literally never seen Shiro scary before and otherwise wouldn't have thought him capable of the pure menacing energy rolling off of him just now). It was therefore mostly for Hunk's benefit, since Pidge was pointedly ignoring Lance's presence.

"Keith and I came to drop off his puffers because he forgot them when he switched bags this morning," Allura added.

"Puffers?" Hunk hedged, and Lance knew the look of commiseration on his best friend's face. Hunk had more puffers than anyone else Lance knew.

Allura swirled her finger in the drips of condensation gathering in rings on the cold tabletop. "He had significant inhalational injuries from the same incident in which he lost his arm. He is a bit self-conscious about the limitations his breathing puts on him now, and it's been causing him considerable difficulties in his paramedicine training."

"He's training to be a paramedic?" Hunk asked, surprised.

"He was a field medic in the army," Pidge piped in, the anger slowly dissipating from her tone. "He and Matt enrolled in the military together. After Shiro was discharged because of his injuries, Matt came home too. He's a cop now. We're so lucky that what happened to Shiro didn't happen to him."

"Then Shiro and Keith ran into trouble with Shiro's ongoing medical expenses and the costs associated with getting a prosthetic for his right arm. It's how we met--I teach political sciences at Altea for a living, but by trade I'm a lawyer." (Lance wanted to laugh at her choice of words but schooled his features to be carefully neutral. "By trade" was not how most people would describe a career in law). "I work with some of my colleagues from law school to provide pro bono services for people who need the help but can't afford it. Shiro was probably my biggest successful case--we got the insurance and military grant to cover his medical bills as well as a pilot of my father's new prosthetic technology."

"What?" Hunk said, spitting out a small mouthful of his latte in alarm. "Hold the phone! Your _father's_ prosthetic? Shiro's arm--your _dad_ is _the_ Dr. Alfor?"

Allura smiled benevolently. "Yes, the one and only. He is a remarkable man."

"Remarkable?" Hunk wisely set his drink down before stuffing his face in his hands and shaking his head wildly in excitement. " _Remarkable_? That man is a legend! Shiro's arm prosthetic is the closest thing someone can get to basically having a new arm reattached! It's incredible! It's the kind of thing I could only _dream_ of inventing!"

Hunk's somewhat humiliating fanboying didn't faze Allura at all. She patted Hunk's elbow.

"Yes, I'm very happy that we were able to get it for Shiro. It has definitely made his goals of transitioning into paramedicine much more attainable."

Lance shoved his hands into his pockets and stood up, checked out from the conversation and still feeling lousy about the giant misunderstanding that afternoon.

"I'm just gonna bounce, guys... I guess I have some cooling off to do, too."

"Damn straight," Pidge snorted. She fixed her gaze on her straw. Lance sighed. He probably deserved everything Pidge dished out.

"Catch you guys later," Lance said. Allura still had that apologetic, pitying look and it made a sick feeling invade Lance's stomach.

The door chimed just as happily when he exited the cafe. Lance resisted the urge to rip the stupid thing off its hinges.

The walk home seemed especially long and miserable that evening.

\-----

October 6

**To: Mullet**

_keith_

_i'm really sorry_

_can we talk_

_pls?_

 

October 6

**To: Mullet**

_keith?_

 

October 6

**To: Mullet**

_babe, pls, i'm sorry_

 

October 6

**To: Mullet**

_keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeith_

_D'=_

 

October 7

**To: Mullet**

_keith pls at least relpy_

_*reply_

 

October 8

**To: Mullet**

_fine_

_fuck u 2_

 

October 8

**To: Mullet**

_noopooo i'm sory_

_i didn't mean it_

 

October 9

**To: Mullet**

_i prmise ill leav u alone now_

_k?_

_k??_

 

October 9

**To: Mullet**

_pls keith txt me back_

_or like call_

_pls??_

 

October 9

**To: Mullet**

_i'm gunna cry :'(_

 

October 9

**From: Mullet**

_Meet me at my place at 11 tonight_

_You can only sstay for 5 minutes_

_Don't waste my time_

 

October 9

**To: Mullet**

_OMG ok ill b there i'm so sorry_

_c u then_

 

October 9

 **To: Mullet** \- _draft:_

_i love u_

\-----

Lance ended up beating Keith to his apartment. He waited almost an hour, sitting on the floor with his back to the door.

Just before midnight, heavy footsteps clomped up the stairs. Lance listened, feeling like each one was a strike from a guillotine. His heart rate was cranked up to "maximal", his lips felt tingly, and he broke out in a cold sweat. His throat contracted around a stone of pure dread.

Time froze around them once Keith reached the end of the hallway. Neither of them breathed or did so much as twitch a single muscle fiber, staring each other down like a parody of a western cowboy drama, neither sure which would draw first (Lance much preferred pirates over cowboys, way less mind games. Pirate code legit said you had to parlay, i.e. talk out your shit).

Keith's shoulders were slumped and curved forward, his eyes were shadowed by his lashes and the fringe of his loose bangs, resignment etched into the shallow vertical divots between his furrowed brows. The flickering hallway light hollowed out his cheeks. Lance's guilt felt twice as heavy in the pit of his belly.

"You have five minutes," Keith said, voice quiet and rough. Lance caught a glimpse of the bright red lining Keith's eyelids, the pretty purple irises he loved so much obscured by how bloodshot the rest was.

Lance nodded, and followed Keith's huddled form into the dark apartment. Keith led him into his bedroom and shut the door gently behind him. Then he turned to face him, arms wrapped tightly around his middle and fingers clasped white-taut over his elbows. He met Lance's gaze but kept hugging himself.

There was a huge apology planned, and an explanation, and a gentle nudge to help Keith see that all he had to do a few days ago was tell him he was wrong--none of that ended up coming out of his mouth. Instead, he wanted to reach out to Keith, he wanted to touch him, but refrained from doing so because he could tell by Keith's posture that he was unwelcome.

"Have you been sleeping?" he whispered, and suddenly none of the rehearsed words sitting along the length of his tongue mattered. None of it mattered if Keith wasn't okay, and he was so clearly _not okay_ that Lance's whole body throbbed in sympathy.

Keith's eyes widened in surprise before he tucked his hands under his elbows, drawing into himself further and averting his gaze to someplace off to the side.

"I'm fine."

"Keith, you are definitely _not_ fine, will you just--"

"I will _not_ 'just' anything, Lance," Keith hissed. Lance stilled, only just then realising that he had taken a subconscious step toward Keith and was encroaching on the invisible boundaries Keith had erected around himself. He surrendered, backing off.

"I'm sorry, Keith. Please, you agreed to listen to what I have to say, right?"

"I _agreed_ to let you haul your pathetic whiny ass over here. I did not agree to anything else, and I think you're wasting both of our time."

"Hey! I said I'm sorry, okay?" Lance couldn't help the shrill rise of his voice, and didn't notice the change in volume until Keith lunged for him, pressing a hand over his mouth.

"Shiro's asleep, you moron," he spat. Lance couldn't figure out if what he was feeling was shock and fear that Keith had basically pounced on him, or elation that they were _touching_ again. His body didn't seem to have any such conflicts, because before he could stop himself he had pulled Keith's hand away by his wrist, buried his other hand in that friggen' mullet, and smashed their lips together.

He didn't know what to expect with Keith as volatile as he was, but he was certainly surprised by the hungry moan that rumbled out of Keith's throat. It was hot in all sorts of ways that did not help the situation, but Lance was just ecstatic that Keith grabbed both sides of his face and kissed him back with a thirst Lance felt he could easily match.

"I'm sorry," he breathed between kisses, "I'm so sorry."

They paused for air between kisses, and at some point Keith had backed Lance up against one of the walls, forearms braced on either side of Lance's shoulders. Their foreheads were pressed together, lips still only a fraction of a hairsbreadth away from each other.

"I'm sorry too," Keith forced out raggedly, sounding dangerously close to sobbing.

"Hey, hey," Lance murmured as Keith collapsed into his chest. His arms wound around the other boy's back to support him as they both slid down the wall to meet the floor. He gathered Keith up in the cradle of his arms and legs, feeling wet tears soak through his shirt. He didn't even notice he was crying himself until a few fat teardrops splashed into Keith's hair.

"I jumped to conclusions," he murmured, heart rate settling peacefully now that he wasn't terrified Keith would launch a punch at his face or other vulnerable area. "I'm an insecure piece of shit with enough anxiety and self-worth issues to desecrate the entire continent of North America."

"You can't quantify something like that," Keith sniffled. Lance let out a watery chuckle.

"Shut up, smartass. I'm baring my soul to you, we're having a bonding moment." Keith snorted but didn't argue, instead nuzzling deeper into the secure circle of Lance's arms.

"I saw you with Allura, and I just... I snapped, I guess? You've never said anything about her, how was I supposed to know who she was? And you didn't... it felt like it took forever for me to be able to _touch_ you, you know, beyond a casual bro-like punch to the arm. So when she was all over you like that, I got jealous and angry."

"So your natural reaction was to fucking _flirt_ with her?" Keith muttered bitterly.

Okay, yeah, that really didn't make sense. Lance sighed and nosed at Keith's hair, noting it was still damp from his tears and probably rainwater, based on the smell; as a matter of fact, Keith's clothing was just shy of sopping wet and Lance didn't notice until it had soaked through his own clothing, too.

"What the fuck, why are you all wet?" he almost yelped, but reined in the volume before he woke Shiro.

"It was raining outside," Keith deadpanned. Lance rolled his eyes.

They both stripped down, back to back to preserve one anothers' modesty (Lance totally snuck a few glances, so sue him. It was dark, anyway, so it's not like he saw much). Keith threw a pair of boxers, sweats, and a plain white T-shirt at him from the dresser on the other side of the room. Lance pulled them on quickly (hiding the hideous scars marring his chest from sight ASAP) and ignored the cold air winding itself around his exposed ankles. The boxers were a little snugger than he found comfortable, but he figured he could deal for the night.

When he turned back around, Keith was dressed in that oversized crewneck and those tiny shorts that made Lance's mouth water a little. So maybe the tightie-whities would be a problem tonight after all...

"Come on, I'm fucking frigid." Keith clambered under the covers and held up one of the edges for Lance, who slipped in easily. He tucked himself into the corner where the walls met and arranged Keith until the shorter boy's back was pressed to his chest, slim hips slotted in the V formed by Lance's legs.

They were all bundled up in the blankets for a few minutes, waiting for the warmth to infuse them. Keith was shivering a bit but he still felt like a cuddle-able space heater. Lance kept him close, looping his arms around the other's waist.

"I'm sorry for revenge-flirting with Allura, it was unwarranted and unfair of me."

Keith tipped his head back onto Lance's shoulder.

"I'm sorry for leaving like that."

"Yeah, you could have just corrected me and saved us both a few days of heartache, jackass."

"Whoa, you are the _worst_ apologizer, ever!"

"Okay, okay, sorry! Sorry. I'm also sorry I let my insecurities get the best of me like that, I know you wouldn't ever try to hurt me, especially not by cheating on me."

"I thought it was 100% confirmed that I'm gay."

"You have made that pretty, ah, clear. Yeah. I'm just... stupid. I'm so used to being second-choice that it's where my mind sort of went, you know? It's so fucked up. My default position in life is number two to everything and everyone else, so I can't help that it dictates my life sometimes."

"You're not."

Lance raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not what?"

"Second choice."

Lance shook his head. "How would you know that?"

"Because I'd choose you first," Keith confessed. "I'd pick you over... over anything, if I had that option. I'd pick your happiness even if it meant... if it meant I had to let you go."

Lance was stunned into silence.

"Will you get it through your thick skull that I love you? Or is there no space for that with all the medical shit you're cramming in there?"

Lance stifled a laugh into Keith's neck, pressing a grateful kiss there.

"No, I'll get it someday. I'll just need lots--" he punctuated with a kiss, "--of--" another kiss, "--reminders."

"I was a few seconds away from throttling you, right there in front of our friends," Keith admitted. If they weren't snuggled up together then Lance would've been offended. "But then I felt Shiro's puffers in my pocket and it made me think of his stupid 'patience yields focus' bullshit and I knew I'd regret it if I did. I never want to hurt you, and it would've made me hate myself probably more than you would hate me. I just... I had to walk away before I did something stupid, again."

"So I guess that's why you never even corrected my dumb assumption that you and Allura were an item," Lance mused.

Keith nodded minutely. "I don't think I was even capable of forming words once I saw you trying to pick her up. Your pickup lines and strategies are crap, by the way."

"Because I'm sure you've had _so_ much experience, Kogane."

Keith spluttered for a second. "O-okay, fine. Fine. I guess I'm a terribad judge of that kind of thing."

"It's okay. The McClain charm obviously worked when it needed to, because I've got you here with me now."

"I guess," Keith murmured, face hot next to Lance's. He let out a shaky sigh. "I'm also sorry for not telling you about Allura before."

Lance's stomach clenched. "I... technically, I've got no right to pry in anything you don't want to tell me."

Keith raised his head to look Lance in the eye. "It's not you, okay? I just... I have a really hard time with this kind of thing. People are not my thing. I've never been good at opening up or talking about feelings, and... well, I guess that's why Pidge and I were so good for each other as kids. She likes machines better than people and I guess I just liked having her around more than other people, and her machine thingies were always pretty cool."

"Her machines _are_ pretty damn cool," Lance conceded.

"Yeah. She also... she understood me. I didn't have to tell her everything, but she got it anyway, and... so I guess I forget that other people maybe can't read me like she can."

"Other people, like me, also haven't known you since you were in diapers," Lance chided. "I want to know you, Keith. Everything about you. But it can be at your pace. I'm in no rush."

Keith pressed a grateful kiss to the underside of Lance's jaw.

"Okay."

"Besides," Lance said, rubbing his cheek against Keith's, both their skin a bit sticky from tears and rainwater (dear God Lance needed to exfoliate, stat), "we have _almost_ forever to figure this out."

Keith clammed up immediately, and Lance regretted including the "almost". But it was true, wasn't it? They had almost forever--until Lance's heart gave out, because there weren't any hearts out there to keep him going.

"I want to tell you, I promise," Keith said, finally. "And I promise not to take almost forever."

"Works for me." Lance placed a kiss on Keith's temple. "As long as it's not almost forever, you can take your time. I'll be listening."

Eventually they became less and less vertical and Lance woke up a few hours later to an empty bed. Keith must have already left for work. It was too early for Lance to even consider coming out from the covers, so he wiggled down further into his warm pocket, cuddled Keith's pillow, and languished in the smell of his boyfriend's generic soap until he fell back asleep.

\-----

The summer heat sizzled well past its welcome into the first week and a half of October before finally being defeated by the turning of the leaves on the deciduous trees, painting the entire city in rich, vibrant oranges, reds, and golds. Fall was a beautiful time of year for Altea university, setting the entire landscape ablaze with warm colours as the crisp autumn air washed away the last summer breezes.

Lance loved a lot of things that came with fall, like the sweet, juicy apples that Hunk could transform into mouthwatering desserts and hot apple cider; the Thanksgiving holiday that afforded him time to visit his family accompanied by the blazing sun and white sand beaches of home; his mother's home cooking; a lot of other food stuff, because, okay, Lance really loved food; and the weather was just cool enough to wear long sleeves but not cold enough for coats, which meant that he could spend days outdoors without sweating his entire intravascular fluid volume or catching his death (and possibly losing limbs to frostbite).

What he didn't like about fall, however, was that although the picturesque colours of nature's palette really came out to play, it was a visible reminder that everything was going to die and rot under a blanket of snow in a few short months. A morbid part of Lance thought that it certainly seemed like palliation in a cycle of death, until everything passed away without feeling a thing, completely covered in nature's sparkling white morgue sheet.

Fall made Lance feel sort of morose. His own mortality was a constant thought on the backburner of his mind, but in the fall he felt that much more aware of the passing of time and the number of goals he had yet to accomplish, the number of unchecked tickboxes beside items on his bucket list.

All of these complex combined emotions certainly made good fuel for composing his music, and he had already written a few things he thought might even be good enough to be debuted at the Castle Cafe someday. If he could ever scrape up the courage, that is.

He really, really liked that Keith was always an enraptured audience for his compositions, no matter how rough they were. It felt extremely personal and intimate to share his creative process with someone, but it was also cathartic in the best way possible. (It made him absolutely fucking _melt_ when Keith could hum along to some of his originals.)

With all the implications of fall aside, the change in seasonal weather also coincided with a change in Lance's rotation assignment. He was on his surgical rotation, for which he was both excited and apprehensive. The hours were much longer, the days started much earlier, and the workload was a lot heftier. He was pretty stoked to observe some procedures and get to go to the operating room (they said OR in conversation, but Lance thought it just made them sound stuck-up when they used too much jargon-y lingo). Most of all, he was chomping at the bit to do his selected surgical subspecialty--cardiac surgery. Best case scenario would be that he could see the kinds of surgeries he underwent when he was too young to really understand what was happening. Worst case scenario would be that he saw a gazillion boring 12-hour bypass surgeries that he may never see again if he made it into general pediatrics. Either way, he was fighting tooth and nail to see as much as he could on this rotation.

"McClain," one of the cardiac surgeons said, giving Lance a once-over that made him extremely self-conscious (please, please, _please_ let there not be anything on his face). "Have you ever talked to a patient or their family about organ donation before?"

Lance shook his head, suddenly scared shitless. Talk to a patient about harvesting their organs as soon as they die? Talking to a family about why their loved one being taken off life support would benefit a handful of other people? It felt disturbingly close to playing God, and really didn't sit well with Lance.

But wasn't he asking exactly that? Hadn't he, since the moment the doctors told his parents, "Maybe his heart will hold out into his twenties"? He needed a heart, so he was asking someone to let their son, daughter, mother, father, sister, brother, husband or wife die so he might have a chance to live. He was praying that someone would get into an accident in order for him to see that thirtieth birthday. He was wishing grief upon a family so his family might not have to experience the same.

The thought sent an abhorrent ripple down Lance's spine, all the way from his atlantoaxial joint where his skull met his neck to his tailbone. He shuddered.

"I'd like you to come with me as we discuss with the family and get consent for the donation. This patient was pronounced brain-dead, so we should catch them before they leave."

Lance nodded, still suspended in a state of shock. He'd seen code blues before, he'd cracked ribs trying to keep patients alive, he'd watched them die right underneath his hands--but he had never asked any of them to die for him, and that was what he was about to do.

He watched each family member's face as the surgeon spoke to them all. The patient was a young woman in her late twenties, two young children at home currently being cared for by the family's neighbours. Lance saw how the devastation wrought through each of the relatives present--the woman had an older sister and a younger brother, both of whom had dissolved into silent tears; she had her parents and parents-in-law holding each other for support; and her husband, who was dry-eyed but his hands were shaking so badly his signature was illegible on the consent form. Lance wondered how much of the conversation was actually absorbed, how coherent they were behind glazed eyes pleading and begging to wake up from this nightmare.

They thanked the family and turned to leave and give them some privacy. Lance found himself asking if they had any other questions before they went, and honestly didn't think anyone would say anything. However, the husband, looking lost, asked, "Was there anything else we could've done for her?"

Lance heard the surgeon reply, "No, sir, I'm so sorry."

The husband nodded slowly, but his eyes were fiercely passionate. "Then I think she'll be h-happy--" his voice broke, "--to know that she'll be a hero. Forever. Our kids know it. They'll be able to remember she's not... she'll never really be gone."

The tears began to flow, scorching shimmering silver trails down the man's lightly stubbled cheeks. Lance's whole body felt cold except for the stinging burn behind his eyelids. He felt like he couldn't breathe, suffocating on the grief filling the room.

Once he escaped the room, the surgeon put a steadying hand on his shoulder. "You okay, Lance?"

"N-no," Lance blurted out, the film of tears spilling over. "No, how the hell could I be?"

The surgeon's face was grim, but he gave Lance's shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"Go get some Kleenex and some water. Take your time. I'll meet up with you when you've had a moment to compose yourself, okay?"

Lance nodded, not trusting himself to say anything else. He bolted straight for the bathroom, locked himself in a stall, and heaved everything in his upper gastrointestinal tract into the toilet, retching until there was nothing left but acid and bile. Then he was sobbing uncontrollably, tears and snot running down his face in an endless torrent that he tried to stem with tissue but it just kept coming.

God, he couldn't do this. He couldn't be a doctor, he couldn't help anyone--this was too hard. The loss in that room was palpable, it crushed Lance's trachea and constricted around his malformed heart. It was too hard to ask anyone to take on that kind of suffering just so he could stretch his lifespan by a few decades.

For all the derogatory whispers and rumours that his classmates circulated about Keith, he wondered how much of the drivel was actually coloured by envy. How many of them wish that they had been able to bring themselves to just stop it, quit, drop everything because it wasn't what they wanted anymore or it wasn't what they expected but it was what they signed up for, what they had worked tirelessly for since high school or even before that. How many of them were completely blindsided by how the world of medicine tore you apart, hollowed you out, and filled you with bitterness and cynicism; how it gave the illusion of helping people when, at the moments it matters most, you feel more helpless than you can survive. How many of them had dreams crushed by every chest compression they gave to the drone of an ongoing flatline but kept pretending that they'd make it through medical school and then residency and then an entire career dedicating their lives to something that slowly sucked the joy and meaning out of them with every devastation they had to dole out to patients and their loved ones?

After today, Lance could understand that. He had felt jealous of Keith regularly before Keith dropped out (he was the prodigy, he was everything every medical student wanted to be), but this was probably the first time he felt genuinely envious of him _because_ he dropped out. Keith was no longer dealing out death and sorrow like it was luck of the draw; Lance was going to spend the rest of his life trying to look at his reflection in the mirror and make peace with the failures he had to bury in caskets and ashes along the way.

\-----

It had been a while since Lance's last fainting spell, so he was surprised to wake up in a hospital room to the sounds of Hunk and Pidge playing Wii beside him. It took a few moments for him to recover enough energy to actually open his eyes, gradually becoming more aware of the roughness of the crappy hospital sheets on his skin and the sound of... was that someone puking?

"Nrghh," he said intelligently.

Hunk paused the game and scootched his chair closer to Lance's bedside while Pidge sprang up and peered at him over Hunk's huge shoulder.

"Buddy?" Hunk said gently, smoothing Lance's hair away from his face. It made his chest twinge with a pang of homesickness. His mother's hands were much slimmer than Hunk's, but just as careful.

"Ugh, what the hell happened to me?"

Pidge folded her arms over Hunk's shoulder and rested her chin over her crossed wrists.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Lance squinted at them like it would help jog his memory by narrowing his field of vision.

"Uh... I was... here, actually. At the hospital, I mean?"

Pidge and Hunk gave each other a meaningful look, which normally implied a complete and total annihilation for Lance in a video game. This time, he wasn't sure how to interpret their silent communication.

The toilet flushed in the room's ensuite bathroom, and Keith emerged with a pale face and hairline damp with sweat. Somehow he managed to look worse than Lance felt.

"Hey," Keith greeted him, voice grating. Everyone in the room winced at the sound of it. Was he gargling shards of glass while he was in there?

"Hey babe," Lance said, aiming for a smile imbued with patented McClain charm but falling short into a grimace of oh-my-God-my-head-is-killing-me.

Keith offered him a tentative sympathetic look, nose scrunching with the corners of his lips quirked up. At the risk of sounding like a complete sappy-McSapperton, Lance felt some of the stabbing pain in his head ease off just because Keith's adorableness attenuated it.

Once Keith made it to the side of the bed, Hunk gathered the two of them into a diluted version of one of his bone-crushing hugs (so it was at soft-tissue-injury-level only).

"Thank God you stopped puking in there," Pidge groaned. "I thought Hunk was gonna start hurling just from the sound of it."

Keith coughed into his elbow. "Oh, I'm so sorry that my misery and suffering were inconvenient for you."

Pidge stuck her tongue out at him. "Are you _sure_ you don't have morning sickness? I'd be happy to buy the pregnancy test for you if you're too embarrassed."

Lance valiantly tried to defend his boyfriend's honour. "There's no way he could be pregnant, we haven't even--" Then he caught himself at the last moment and slapped his hands over his mouth.

"I have a fucking Y chromosome, Pidge," Keith said, surprisingly unperturbed by Lance's oversharing of their nonexistent sex life. Right. Because Keith couldn't get knocked up for a variety of reasons, and the Y chromosome was probably the most important. The lack of uterus came with that. So okay, maybe the fact that he and Keith hadn't yet taken _that_ step in their relationship was not the point to open with in this debate.

Thankfully, Pidge did not pursue the argument any further; she pushed their glasses up a little higher on her little pixie nose but the slant of her eyes told Lance that she was not going to let him live this down.

"Okay, so what actually happened to me?" (Yes, please, change the subject!)

"One of your classmates found you passed out in the bathroom," Hunk explained. "You were pretty dehydrated."

Lance recalled emptying his abdominal cavity into the toilet and not much after that. Ugh, how humiliating. Plus, his classmate probably found him with tears and snot all crusted on his face, which was disgusting and pathetic.

"You almost went into cardiac arrest," Keith said softly, a haunted look settling in the dark rings bruised around his eyes. Lance instinctively reached over to clasp the other boy's hand, ignoring the slight tug it put on his IV cannula.

"Wow, that's shitty," was all Lance could think to say.

"You've been out for a few days, sleeping beauty," Pidge said. Okay, he really did not expect that.

"What?"

"Yeah, your doctor said that you should be okay to go home once you've woken up, and then you should probably take a day or two off before coming back to school." Hunk rearranged the covers around him because he was the biggest teddy bear ever, and could basically mom the living daylights out of anyone.

"But what about the missed days? Oh my God, what does this mean?"

Keith pulled Lance's hand up to his lips and brushed a kiss over his knuckles. "Don't sweat it, Doc," he said. "The school approved your medical leave of absence because you were admitted to the freaking hospital, okay? It's fine. You'll have to make up the work somehow, but it'll be okay."

"Ugh, it was only like, my third day on the rotation! This is awful. They're gonna think I'm not cut out for this, and they'll kick me out, and--"

Keith grabbed Lance's chin and tilted it toward him, forcing Lance to make eye contact. "It's gonna be fine, you idiot. Just shut up, get some rest, and we'll worry about all the studying you've got to do after you get out of here, okay? They're not going to kick you out over something like this."

Lance felt the frantic energy inside him get completely dispelled by the fiery assurance in Keith's eyes. A sense of guilt began to creep in, because who was he to complain about missing some days of school when Keith had felt like his life was falling apart so irreparably that he had dropped out altogether? Shame coloured his cheeks and he ducked his head.

"Sorry," he whispered. He felt Keith drop a kiss in his hair (and Pidge drew an exaggeratedly put-upon sigh, "I can't even tell you guys to get a room because we're in one, ugh!").

"Nothing for you to apologize for. It'll be okay. We'll let you rest up now, okay?"

Hunk gave him a warm pat on the arm. "I'll come get you when they discharge you in the morning, I already talked to my supervisor about it. We'll get you home, feed you something that's not hospital food, and you'll be back to the nightmare that is surgery in no time!"

Pidge gave him a gentle cuff on the cheek (like what the fuck, who even does that to a sick person, Jesus Christ!) but beamed at him (which, okay, that did make him feel better. Dammit, Pidge). "I'm gonna visit you after I finish class so Hunk can go into the lab. You guys have much better Wii games than the pediatrics department here anyway."

Lance rolled his eyes. "Oh, I'm so glad that you want to use our Wii rather than actually come visit me, your best and most good-looking friend."

Pidge snorted. "Sure, Casanova. Besides, you know I only put up with you because you're crazy enough to actually date Keith."

Lance pasted a mock-hurt expression on his face and covered his heart with his hand. "Oh, you wound me!"

Keith used his hip to knock Pidge over a bit and take her place next to Lance. He lay a kiss on Lance's forehead and his cheek, then pulled away looking apologetic.

"I still have a massive migraine and some leftover nausea, so I'm gonna just not tempt fate and make sure I don't vomit on you. Fair?"

Lance wanted to pout and say no and demand more kisses, _real_ kisses, but Keith really did look worse for wear. His cheeks were sallow and his complexion somewhat sickly, his longish hair stuffed under a worn-out gray beanie that just brought out the shadows under his eyes and cheekbones. Had he lost a bit of weight in the few days Lance was in the hospital? That seemed improbable, but Lance couldn't deny that his boyfriend looked even skinnier than he seemed in the summer. He was thin enough to begin with--all wiry, sinewy muscle under his skin without an ounce of extra fat to spare--which just made Lance wish he could take Keith home with him to meet his family. Mama would have kept the boy so well-fed Lance imagined Keith expressing sarcastic suspicions that they were fattening him up to kill him or offer him as a human sacrifice in some weird Cuban cult ceremony. (Most of which, as far as Lance knew from completely academic interest and not personal investment/participation, did NOT require human sacrifices anyway. That would be creepy, and the organ transplant lists in Cuba would be incredibly short...)

"Ugh, keep your vomit to yourself, asshole," Lance whined with a smirk. Keith's lips twitched almost reluctantly into a smile, and it already added some healthy colour to his cheeks (ew, Lance was waxing poetic about the healing power of love, fuck). The shorter boy must not have been able to resist Lance's incredible good looks because he leaned down to drop one last butterfly kiss to Lance's nose.

"Okay, you guys can stop being disgusting now, God," Pidge griped (but she was totes smiling her ass off so Lance just stuck his tongue out at her). "Enough googly eyes at each other, let's go! Keith, you're gonna be _tardy_ for your shift at the nursing home."

Hunk just beamed at all of them, gave Lance one last hug (and seriously, this guy gave hugs that made you feel like the world was just gonna be fucking A-okay and Lance loved him so much for it. Just don't tell Keith that, ever. He would probably hiss and stalk off like a jealous cat. But damn, he'd be freakin' adorable with cat ears and a tail. Okay, whatever the fuck he had in his IV drip, he should definitely get a few bags of it to go 'cause he could use this kind of floaty-happy feeling q2min PRN--or every two minutes, as needed, as Pidge would chide him. Oh shit, his inner monologue voice was starting to become a dialogue? What the fuck? Okay, drugs, you can stop now...).

On their way out the door (Pidge basically herding the other two out with a mumbled, "He legit needs his rest, assholes, _come on_!"; aw, he _knew_ Pidge cared and loved him unconditionally to the end of time!), Keith caught Lance's eyes. A silent split-second passed between them, a snippet of stolen time, weirdly private considering Pidge and Hunk were literally occupying the space between them. Everything went soft and hazy like no drug could ever do for Lance, and for once, it felt like his heart was doing exactly what it was supposed to do.

\-----

Going back to the monotonous hum-drum of life on the wards ended up being a lot more drab than Lance remembered. He was able to seamlessly assimilate himself into the surgical team, even after just over a week away, and picked up where he left off. Keith came over to help him work on the additional reading assignments he was supposed to do to "make up" the lost time, but everything felt so... mundane. Pointless. It was difficult to get himself out of bed at 4:45AM normally, but now it was nearly impossible.

He just didn't have the motivation.

Every patient he met reminded him of the young woman whose organs were given away, whose family was splintered and broken so that other people would be able to go on living. Most of them would be blissfully unaware of just how deeply the pain of loss ran, perforating every silver lining until only the grief leaked through.

Lance just didn't feel like he was helping anyone. It was hopeless--people were going to die, and he wasn't going to make a single iota of difference.

Eventually he was running on auto-pilot, dragging himself out of bed at the last possible moment and immediately wishing he could collapse back into the comforting embrace of his blankets once he arrived at the hospital. No amount of coffee (that he was _really_ not supposed to be drinking in the first place) helped to clear the fog of exhaustion from his mind.

Hunk started treating him particularly carefully, like he was made of glass, or like he was a spooked horse. Pidge even stopped ribbing him, which was definitely weird but Lance just didn't _care_. Keith had changed up his work schedule, dropping his Friday night shifts at the hospital gift shop and giving away every other Sunday at the nursing home so they could spend more time together, but even when they were together all Lance wanted to do was sleep. He was just so _tired_.

"Lance? Lance, my baby, you're not yourself. Tell me, what's wrong?"

His mother's face, rendered pixellated on his laptop screen from the piss-poor quality of his family's webcam back home, was drawn taut with worry. He hated it.

"Nothing is wrong, Mama," he said, forcing a smile that felt wooden and stiff in his cheeks. "I'm just a little stressed out."

"Oh my baby boy," Mama said, reaching for the camera as if she could convey touch across the internet, bless her heart. "Hunk says you haven't been feeling well since you got home from the hospital. Maybe you should go back to the doctor."

There was a knock at the door but Lance ignored it. Hunk would probably get it.

"Are you expecting visitors, dear?" his mother asked.

"No, Mama. I think I'm just going to get ready for bed."

"Okay, _mijo_ ," she replied. "In your time, it's a bit early for bed though, no?"

Lance glanced apathetically at the time in the corner of the chat window.

"It's already ten, Mama," he said. "I have to be up really early."

His mother gave him a small smile. "Look at my responsible, grown up son. Ah, it's been such a long time since you've been home. We miss you."

Lance couldn't explain why those words made the tears spring up, but he hoped that the picture quality was bad enough on his mom's end that she wouldn't be able to tell. He fought to keep his voice steady as he replied, "I miss you too, Mama."

He heard Hunk opening the apartment door.

"I'm gonna go, Mama, I love you," he said, already knowing the jig was up. He sniffled. "Tell everyone I love them, too, okay?"

"Okay, my sweet boy. Sleep well. I love you too."

He took a shaky breath and tried his best to smile. It came out weak and watery, but it would have to do. He waved at her and ended the video call as his bedroom door creaked open.

Keith poked his head through the small crack.

"Sorry, it was ajar, I wasn't sure if you were asleep," he explained softly. Oh, so that's who was at the door.

Lance scrubbed his tears away with his sleeve and sniffled again, trying to disguise it by clearing his throat. He really didn't need Keith commenting on how much of a wreck he was.

"Yeah, no problem," he said nonchalantly, shifting to toss back the covers.

Keith pushed the door open just a fraction more, slinking into the room and letting it shut quietly behind him.

Lance maneuvered himself under the covers and flopped down bonelessly against the pillows. Keith gingerly sat on the mattress as if trying to take up the least possible amount of space while still letting one of his hips rest on the bed.

"I figured you'd already be asleep. Just wanted to check on you."

Normally, something mushy like that coming from Keith would make Lance's insides go soft and gooey. Lately, he just felt a whole lot of... nothing.

"Thanks, babe," he whispered. He hoped it sounded a lot less half-assed and half-hearted to Keith.

Keith looked like he was deeply contemplating something before he opened his mouth again.

"I um... I made an appointment for you," he blurted out, bunching up a handful of blankets in his tightly clenched fist. "To see Dr. Slav, actually."

Lance's eyes narrowed. "Why the fuck would you do that?"

Keith bit his lip but met Lance's angry glare.

"I think you need to talk to somebody," he said. "You won't talk to me, and Hunk said you've been shutting him out, too. Pidge is worried. I'm worried. Even Shiro's noticed you've been off for the past few weeks."

"I talk to you guys," Lance huffed, feeling the familiar heat of anger settle in his gut. "I don't understand why you'd make an appointment with a shrink, it's not like I'm crazy. Jesus."

"I never said that, Lance. I said I'm worried about you. You've just been so flat around everyone, you're snapping at us all the time; we're concerned, okay?"

"No, not okay. I'm sure this seemed like a great idea to you for whatever reason, but you shouldn't have made any damn appointments. You're not a fucking doctor, Keith. You don't know what I need. End of story."

Keith frowned. He looked like he wanted to say something else but was fighting valiantly to stop it from getting past his gritted teeth. Lance realised he was probably blowing this out of proportion, but it felt like forever since he, well, _felt_ anything, and so he kind of wanted the sizzle-simmer of anger to stay for as long as he could keep it.

"You're saying things you don't mean right now," Keith said thinly, "so I'm just... I'm just not going to let it turn this into something we'll both regret. Before you say anything else, I'm coming with you. Wednesday you're post-call, so I'm coming to meet you here and we're going together to see Dr. Slav. If you don't want me in the room, fine, but I'm going to sit there in the goddamn waiting room until your appointment is done."

Lance sighed and sat up.

"Fine."

Keith sniffed and stood stiffly.

"You should go to bed, Lance."

Lance got to his feet and stared down at Keith defiantly. The two to three inch height difference seemed to stretch into several feet as Keith's shoulders hunched and he broke eye contact.

"I'll just... I'll go. I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about this, but it's important to me that you get some help."

"I don't need any help," Lance spat. "But if it's so fucking important to you, I guess I've got no choice."

Keith swallowed. His fists shook slightly at his sides.

"Sure," he said. It didn't sound like conceding defeat, but Lance counted it as a victory anyway.

Lance moved to open his bedroom door. It was a clear request. Keith heeded it, folding his arms across his midsection, looking almost timid. Lost.

"Good night, dropout," Lance said evenly.

"Good night," Keith whispered.

Lance closed the door before Keith had a chance to say anything else.

He didn't need to see a shrink. Shrinks saw crazy people, psychotic people, manic people. They saw depressed people. Lance was none of those things.

No, he told himself as he slipped back under the covers, anger fizzling out and leaving him feeling the same detached cold and numb that had settled in every tissue in his body since he saw that family fall to pieces in front of him. He was none of those things.

\-----

Well, if Lance was going to be forced to endure the shitshow that would inevitably unfold in Dr. Slav's office, he was marginally appeased by the fact that Keith would be dragged through it all with him.

Dr. Slav steepled his fingers together and reclined in his spinny office chair ( _Dios_ , those things probably cost a fortune but it looked like it offered _amazing_ ergonomic back support, plus it would be really fun to just wheel around the whole office in). He was probably going for the whole "approachable" schindig but honestly it came off as sort of condescending and holier-than-thou.

"So tell me, Mr. McClain, what brings you in to see me?"

Lance crossed his arms and his legs and rolled his eyes, slouching in the (pretty comfortable, actually) sofa as far from Keith as he could physically sit.

"My jerkwad boyfriend here made me an appointment without my express consent."

Dr. Slav made a long, drawn-out "hm" sound that grated on Lance's nerves.

"You sound quite upset with that, yes?"

Lance inspected the office decor. "Well, yeah, it was a dick move. I don't want to be here, I don't need to talk to anyone."

"So everything's fine, then?"

"Yeah, just peachy. Dandy, even."

From the corner of his eye, Lance could see Keith's fists tight and trembling slightly on his knees. The other boy's back was ramrod-straight. (Pfft, served the fucking presumptuous asshole right.)

"Okay, Lance." Dr. Slav leaned forward a bit in his seat, the crazy expensive shrink throne creaking a little with the movement. "So, Keith, why did you make this appointment today?"

Lance watched Keith's reaction, seeing the tension slowly ebb away as Keith unfurled his fists to press his palms flat against his thighs.

"I'm concerned," he said quietly. That wasn't what Lance was expecting at all--he thought Keith would be grinding a pissed-off remark through his gritted teeth, not sounding so... vulnerable and lost and _sad_. Lance perked up a bit, attention snapping from 25% to 110% in that split second.

"Concerned about what, my boy?" (Ugh that was so freaking patronizing Lance wanted to punch this guy in the throat, even if he was faculty of the medical school.)

Keith's eyes darted to Lance's face for a moment before quickly averting to something safer (the corner of Dr. Slav's desk, apparently).

"I'm worried that Lance might be... that he's depressed. I just wanted to make sure he got some help before it got worse."

"What made you think that?"

Lance couldn't help but chime in. "Yeah, what made you think that, _Keith_?"

Keith drew his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, face screwed up in contemplation and something else Lance couldn't identify.

"Well, for one, his sense of humour's gone to shit," Keith said, probably trying for a lighthearted tone but really falling flat (Jesus, it's like this guy could not crack a joke to save his fucking life). "It feels like everything is a jab or a snark nowadays. Before he would just tease, I guess? Before it was funny. Now it just... hurts." It looked like it took monumental effort for Keith to admit that.

Lance frowned. He thought back to a few sarcastic jibes he may have thrown out to Pidge and Hunk and Keith, but none of them seemed bothered by it. Keith was probably exaggerating or being oversensitive. (Since when was Keith ever oversensitive?)

"He's had zero motivation to do anything outside of his school obligations and sleeping. He used to be the hugest freak about his face routine uh... _stuff_ , and now he just barely rolls out of bed to get to the hospital on time. Everything that used to be fun to him just isn't anymore. Yesterday, one of our friends said he turned down playing this new video game with them, and Lance had been waiting for that game to come out since... I don't even know, but I feel like it must've been close to forever."

Lance scoffed and took keen interest in the colour of Dr. Slav's carpet. Keith was spinning this whole thing into a huge sob story or something, it sounded like a much bigger deal than it was. So what, he wanted to sleep a lot because he was fucking exhausted every day. Who wouldn't be, on the slave-driving schedule of surgery?

"Ah. I can think of many possible explanations for this change in behaviour; what makes you think, in this case, it's depression?"

"Look at him!" Keith blurted out, springing to his feet and gesturing to Lance. "It's like he's not even here. This is how it's felt for the last few weeks--he's here, but he's not!"

Keith's chest was heaving, and his eyes were suspiciously shiny. His arms fell to his sides, hands shaking.

"I just... I need him to be okay." Keith's voice warbled and broke on the last syllable of "okay", and that made Lance take note. He'd never heard Keith sound like that before.

Dr. Slav raised a pensive eyebrow. Lance really, really wanted to get up and leave the room, this guy was seriously infuriating.

"It sounds like, in this reality, you're not so "okay" yourself."

"What do you mean, 'this reality'?" Lance interrupted.

Dr. Slav inclined his head toward Lance. "I mean that there are multiple dimensions of this situation, and they all simultaneously exist. Hence, in this particular reality, it seems your, ah, significant other is feeling quite disconcerted by your recent change in behaviour. This increases the likelihood that you are indeed clinically depressed by about 80%."

"What? That can't be a real estimate of--what kind of likelihood ratio are you applying?"

Dr. Slav hummed and scribbled something down on his clipboard. Lance scowled at him.

"God, Keith, you couldn't even make this appointment with a real fucking doctor? This guy's obviously a kook!"

"Dammit, Lance! Can you please just... can you just take this seriously? You need help!"

Now Lance was on his feet, fists clenched in the front of Keith's favourite red and white jacket (the really stupid one that wasn't even full-length; who even wore crop-jackets in real life?). "I don't need any help, _dropout_. Not from you, and not from this asshole spewing multiple reality mumbo-jumbo. I'm leaving."

He released Keith as if the contact disgusted him, and stalked toward the door. Keith lunged forward and caught his wrist in a firm grasp, but Lance could tell that Keith was giving him the option to shake him off if he really wanted to.

"Please, Lance, give this a chance? I swear, if this is a waste of your time I'll drop it. We'll never talk about it again, okay? I swear."

Lance turned, considering it. He glanced at the clock--there were only fifteen minutes left of this shitty appointment.

"Fine," he seethed, swivelling on his heel and dropping heavily back onto the sofa. Dr. Slav's pen was scritch-scratch-scrawling at a mile a minute on his dumb voodoo clipboard.

Keith smiled, but it was a weak little thing. It looked equal parts pained and relieved, and overall grateful. Lance wouldn't say anything about it, but the expression did make his guts squirm a bit under his diaphragm. Keith sat carefully on the other side of the sofa, perched on the edge of the cushion like he was still afraid Lance would try to bolt (which he would, but there were only a few minutes left so it would kind of ruin the dramatic exit).

"Well, Mr. McClain, I think you do have depression," Dr. Slav announced. Lance rolled his eyes.

"Given your past medical history, I think it would be safest to try you on half a starting dose of an SSRI. Has anyone in your family ever taken medication for depression before?"

"Nope." Lance wasn't trying to be deliberately belligerent anymore, but he did pop the "p" sound in a fairly hostile manner.

"Right then, we will start you on ten milligrams of fluoxetine, and then I'll see you again in a week's time to make sure you're feeling alright before we consider titrating the dose up."

"Whatever."

Dr. Slav pushed a slip of paper into Lance's outstretched palm, and Lance tucked it into the pocket of his bomber jacket. He felt another piece of paper in there that he didn't remember stuffing in, but he decided to worry about that later.

"Okay, so we still have ten minutes. Are you gonna talk at me about these dumb alternate realities or whatever bullshit now?"

Dr. Slav looked mildly amused. "No."

"Oh, thank fuck."

Keith barely refrained from elbowing him in the ribs. Lance figured that the little nudge he got was probably deserved.

"But before I see you next week, I would like to start counselling for you. Dr. Luxia is a clinical psychologist, she will see you on Monday evening at the Bakku clinic." He looked over at Keith, still balancing precariously on the edge of his seat. "You can attend the sessions together, if you'd prefer."

Lance suppressed the urge to sigh loudly.

"Honestly," Dr. Slav continued, "I don't have particularly high hopes for the fluoxetine. I wouldn't want to go very high on that medication anyhow, considering your heart condition. Hence, I think the counselling is where you're going to see the greatest results. It has a much higher percent chance of helping you resolve what I hope is a brief major depressive episode." He handed Lance another piece of paper, this one with a phone number and clinic address on it. Lance shoved it in the same pocket of his jacket as the prescription.

"Okay, can we go now?"

"We still have five minutes, actually." Dr. Slav's eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled. It was sort of paternal and would be comforting if it weren't for the fact that the guy was a giant load of bullshit.

"Mr. Kogane, may I ask you a question before we wrap up?"

Keith startled, obviously not expecting to be asked anything else. He tensed, eyes flickering to Lance before his gaze flitted back to Dr. Slav's face.

"Uh, sure, I guess?"

Dr. Slav slanted a look at Lance before barrelling on with his question.

"You appear to be in a state of... despair. What is causing this?"

Keith was taken aback for a moment, before he cleared his throat awkwardly and planted both feet on the ground. He rocked his weight forward, letting his forearms rest on his thighs, fingers twisting together in a rare outward display of anxiety.

"I... uh..."

Dr. Slav cocked his head slightly to the side, a silent indication he was willing to be patient and had all the time in the world. Lance tried to seem as disinterested as he possibly could while eavesdropping with a total lack of shame.

"My... um, my brother," Keith stammered, "he's, er... he was in the army. Got caught in a bad explosion, saved his platoon but lost his arm. His um... his lungs were scarred up pretty bad from the smoke inhalation, he's got terrible breathing now. He's re-training to be a paramedic, but it's hard. The breathing... he can't keep up. He's out of breath before the other trainees even break a sweat, but it's not because he can't--he was a medic, for Christ's sake. He'd be running circles around these people if it weren't for the damage that grenade did."

Dr. Slav nodded encouragingly. Lance was shell-shocked (okay, maybe that was in poor taste, considering, you know, _grenade_. But honestly, Lance couldn't describe the feeling as accurately in any other way. It was sort of like being rapidly submerged, with absolutely no warning, into astoundingly near-frozen water, until every part of him was immersed in heavy, cold surprise. It was not a nice variety of surprise, to say the least. Shiro always seemed to have things together, and Lance would never have known about the mortal struggle he faced every day).

"And how has this made you feel?"

A muscle in Keith's jaw jumped under his skin. Lance felt like he was watching this happen from somewhere far dissociated from his own body.

"Completely useless?" he said tonelessly. He cut a side glance at Lance, fingers twisting even more tightly in his fingerless gloves. "Everything I do--I'm just trying not to fucking screw up and lose him because there's nothing I can do to help." Lance wasn't clear on whether Keith was referring to _him_ or to Shiro. The guilt crashed down on him in waves. Keith was probably referring to both of them, at least to some extent.

Dr. Slav didn't say anything right away, and the room lapsed into an uneasy silence. Keith picked at nonexistent loose threads at the seams of his gloves, avoiding eye contact with the other two occupants in the room. Talk about being pushed into the spotlight; Keith had a ragged look about him, like he'd just been pummelled by an earthquake or weathered by a violent storm.

"I think it would be a good idea for the two of you to attend those counselling sessions together, if you can," Dr. Slav finally said, scribbling on another notecard and handing it to Keith. It had identical information for Dr. Luxia's office. "It'd also be helpful, I think, if you were to see her individually as well."

Keith nodded stiffly and slipped the card into whatever side pocket his tight jeans miraculously had with all the material that was NOT used to make Keith's ass look fantastic (okay, whoa, was Lance getting distracted by his boyfriend's butt after all the intensely heavy shit that just went down in the last five minutes? What the actual fuck was wrong with him?).

The two young men stood up and Dr. Slav politely held the door open for them to escape. Leave. Skedaddle. Lance was all too eager to accept the invitation to get out, get back to his apartment, and sleep for the rest of the foreseeable future. He didn't really want to have to think about everything that had transpired in this hellhole of an office.

Keith walked with him to the adjoining pharmacy to fill the prescription. Lance wasn't sure he'd actually end up taking the meds, but he fished the paper out of his pocket anyway. Stuck to it was the other piece of paper he felt earlier.

As the pharmacist went to put his pills in the bottle and whatnot, Lance unfolded the crumpled note. It turned out to be a receipt from the laser tag place--the place he'd taken Keith all those months ago on his one magical day off. Their first real date.

He was suddenly acutely aware of how close Keith was standing--deliberately too far for their hands or shoulders to brush by accident, but as close as he could be otherwise. A crippling pang shot through Lance's already handicapped heart. How long had it been since they held hands? Since they kissed? Since they did anything other than see each other's faces for a few brief moments between Lance getting out of bed and going back to bed?

The pharmacist handed Lance an orange bottle full of innocent, harmless-looking white pills. The instructions were written idiot-proof right there, on the bottle. Lance tucked it into his pocket and swallowed thickly as Keith paid. His tongue felt too leaden to protest, or to even attempt to pay for his own damn meds. Neither of them could afford the type of insurance that would cover this shit anyway.

They left the pharmacy in silence, and walked with that same measured distance between them until Lance reached the front door of his apartment.

"Keith?" he croaked, hand stilling on the doorknob. Keith had both hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, eyes downcast. At the sound of his name being called, his eyes flickered up to Lance's face, hesitant. Unsure. Lance kind of wished he could go back to the numb bliss he was living in before, because it was definitely less crappy than the painful constriction he felt around his trachea he felt at that moment.

"I uh... thanks, for going out of your way to do this for me. And I'm sorry for being a total dick to you for the last couple of weeks, today in particular."

A fragile smile spread across Keith's lips. God, Lance just wanted to kiss him. It had been too long since he kissed him.

"Don't mention it, Doc," Keith said, ducking his head almost shyly. Lance reached out and clasped his wrist. Keith's eyes shot up in surprise.

"Come here, dropout," he said, and this time the word held none of the venom or malice from their previous interaction. Now it was like a weird term of endearment or something.

He pressed his lips to that delicate smile, hoping he wouldn't break it. Hoping he wouldn't break the gossamer soul beneath it, trying so hard to shine bright and strong in the face of endless adversity. Damn, Lance felt like the worst person on the face of the planet.

Keith kissed back, hesitant at first, but slowly building in intensity until his lips were moving against Lance's. It felt reverent, like he was in awe of this moment, and Lance had to admit that he felt the same way. Sure, it was just a kiss, but it also felt like the first step on a long journey toward healing.

"I love you, you know," he murmured against Keith's mouth, letting the warm feeling between them linger for as long as it could last.

"I love you too." Keith let their foreheads touch, noses brushing as they soaked in each others' air. Lance intertwined their fingers and held their hands against his chest. His defective heart beat against their metacarpal bones like a song on a xylophone, thrumming irregular but steady.

Lance wanted to stay in that moment, that little island of okay surrounded by this sea--no, ocean--of utter shitty shit. He wanted to let it fill his undersized and overworked ventricles with solace, let it pump through brittle, scarred myocardium and suffuse him with hope that somehow everything would be okay. Somehow he'd be happy before his poor heart gave out on him, and he wouldn't go out without making Keith smile at least one more time.

Keith's cold hand came up to Lance's cheek, cupping the angle of his jaw. For someone who usually ran really hot, Keith's fingers were like icicles. Lance still leaned into the touch.

"I've gotta go," Keith said, apologetic. Lance hummed, watching the harsh fluorescent lights in the hallway scatter flecks of gold in Keith's gray-violet irises.

"Okay," he said.

Keith tip-toed up to kiss the corner of Lance's mouth one more time before he pulled away. His lips left a warm tingle in their wake.

"I love you!" Lance called out to him, waving from the door as Keith started descending the stairs.

"I love you too," Keith called back (was it just Lance or did that sound almost begrudging? Aw, was Keith _embarrassed_? It really shouldn't be as adorable as it was). His black-gloved hand eventually disappeared beneath the landing.

Lance let himself into the apartment, toed off his shoes, and fumbled his way back under the nice, inviting covers of his bed.

For once, he didn't feel like nodding off quite yet. He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes before throwing the covers back and reaching for his guitar, which had accumulated a thin layer of dust. He couldn't recall the last time he'd played at the Castle Cafe, or the last time he'd actually shared a meal with Hunk other than the few rare occasions he had an appetite and he microwaved whatever he could find in the fridge, then plopped into one of the seats Hunk was not currently occupying.

Shit, he really had been a mess for the last few weeks. Or had it already been over a month?

Fuck. He _did_ need help.

He strummed aimlessly at his guitar as he gradually came to the realization that he was incredibly lucky to have a boyfriend that put up with all his shit and was still doggedly determined to get him the help he hadn't acknowledged that he needed.

After all this, Keith definitely deserved some kind of pampering.

Lance let his thoughts wander a bit more, guided only by the strings of his guitar under well-worn calluses, until inspiration really struck and he pulled his laptop out from under a pile of abandoned clothing on the floor.

\-----

"Where are we going?"

"Can you not question everything, you asshole? I finally have some semblance of motivation to do something other than sleep forever, and you're making it sound like I should find someone to put you out of your misery instead of take you out on a date."

Keith spluttered, his steps halting. Lance whirled around with a smirk tugging up the corners of his mouth.

"A date?"

"Yes, dickwad. A date. The kind of things that couples usually do, you know?"

A slow smile bloomed on Keith's face, starting as a spark in his eyes that warmed his cheeks and made his features brighten.

"You want... to go on a date? With me?"

He sounded so flattered that Lance was torn between feeling awful that, in his depression, he made Keith become accustomed to being brushed off and flaked on, and feeling abso-fucking-lutely _elated_ that he could make that gorgeous light dance in the upward curve of Keith's lips.

"Of course, idiot. We're a couple."

"Right, and dates are what couples do."

The evening breeze was cool, skimming the border between crisp fall air and winter's chill. It wasn't biting at their exposed skin, but it did raise goosebumps all over Lance's arms even in his jacket sleeves--or maybe that was just the residual effect of Keith's pinky finger linking with his.

He couldn't remember when he last felt this normal. The cement anxiety and negativity between his ribs that crushed him when he slept and made it hard to breathe had all melted away for this one moment, and Lance wished he could trap it in a snowglobe so he'd never have to let it go. Now that a world of gray had become his new baseline, he wanted to remember life in colour when he got it.

Honestly, the date had been Dr. Luxia's suggestion. Keith had dutifully accompanied him to the Bakku clinic, as promised, and even held his hand throughout the appointment despite Lance unconsciously gripping it hard enough his bones probably creaked. Lance knew if he had been fiddling with a pen or something, the poor object would've met a mangled fate by the end of the session. He really didn't like the idea of this stranger poking and prodding in his thoughts, asking probing questions that made him feel to raw and naked to answer, but Keith was quiet and sturdy at his side and it made it easier to pretend he was talking just to Keith instead.

For some reason, Dr. Luxia delved deeper into their relationship than they had ever discussed out loud. It was really awkward when she asked about sex, because that was something that gave Lance sweaty palms every time he thought about it. Before, it was probably because he was horny and, as Pidge would've put it, in desperate need of a good, hard lay, but now it was because the anxiety that crawled up his esophagus would sit there and swell just at the thought of someone getting that intimate with him. His insecurities had all risen so close to the surface, blistering into varicella-like vesicles filled with self-doubt and self-hatred that had probably been festering for years, but lay dormant until he felt the kind of hopelessness and failure that came with being an incompetent medical student. All he had ever wanted to do was help people, and yet here he was wasting Dr. Luxia's time because he couldn't get his shit together enough to help himself.

Keith was pretty nonchalant about the whole sex thing, which was a bit surprising considering how he still blushed like a virgin whenever their makeout sessions crossed into heavy petting or groping territory in the past. He answered Dr. Luxia's questions with a sort of clinical pointedness that was awkwardly blunt but ultimately effective. But Keith was sort of like that--cut to the chase, cauterize the bleeders, deal with the heart of the problem, suture everything shut neat and tidy. Lance admired that, even though Keith admitted it got him into trouble whenever he didn't take the time to figure out what he was cutting through before he got there... Damn, his boyfriend really would have made an incredible surgeon someday.

So the first step, Dr. Luxia had said, to addressing Lance's now-crippling fear of true intimacy, would be to rekindle interpersonal relationships, starting with theirs. Keith calmly nodded along, and told Lance they'd go slow. Said he'd let Lance dictate the next move, and left it up to him to test the waters with Keith standing by him every step of the way.

Okay, Lance could do that.

Hence, he made a reservation at the university's planetarium (the girl who worked there was a bored-looking undergrad astronomy major who raised an eyebrow because, "Um, mister, you can't make reservations here", but whatever, hardly any students used the planetarium on campus so it was mostly empty when Lance and Keith arrived anyway). He grabbed Keith's hand (now wearing proper gloves _with_ fingers, because those _made sense_ ; he was dating such a weirdo) and looped their arms together like he was escorting a princess to the ball. Keith snorted and made some snide remark about NOT being a princess, but Lance stuck his tongue out at him and Keith never made a move to reposition them, so he counted it as a win. Keith probably didn't mind as much as he tried to make it seem, since the tips of his ears were dusted pink (barely visible in the dim lighting of the planetarium's auditorium, but Lance noticed and it made his chest feel puffed full of something lighter and sweeter than air).

Back home, Lance loved to spend Saturday nights stretched out on a blanket on the beach, watching the night sky stretch on for eons overhead. The theatre seating in the planetarium reclined, sort of, so it was close enough. Nothing could replicate the sharp, salty smell of Varadero beach, or the invigorating rush of the waves hitting the shore in a fine mist that tasted like the ocean on his tongue, but having Keith's warm palm pressed against his more than made up for what he was missing. He used to see the stars as music notes scattered like seashells above him, humming along to cosmic melodies that connected him to the world--now, even though the stars were just pinprick projections of light from a ball-thing in a box, the songs felt like home. The sound of Keith's breathing, quiet and steady beside him, felt like home.

Somehow Lance found himself staring at the way the artificial starlight painted streaks of blue and gold in Keith's (still dumb and stupidly long) hair and eyelashes instead of his musical constellations.

The ache that dully throbbed at the edge of his consciousness--trapped in the webbing of his fingers and toes and the hollows carved out by his collarbones--lessened until it was barely noticeable. It was the ache for his mother's cooking, his father's laugh (usually at his own lame jokes), his brothers' and sisters' excited chatter, his abuelita's cool, wrinkled hands on his cheeks, and his padrino's firm grip on his shoulder and gruff voice telling him that the Dream Fund was supposed to help him reach his potential, because he was meant to go far. He was destined for great things.

Lance wasn't going to fool himself into thinking that this silly little date night out to the campus planetarium would erase the depression that stole his enjoyment of things (sometimes, on days when his mood was particularly dark, it even stole whatever will he had to live), but as he mapped the contours of Keith's nose and forehead and cheeks with his lips, he thought of the orange pill bottle on his dresser, still completely full, and his heart felt the same. He wondered if his heart might burst, unable to accommodate the love and blood at the same time in its limited capacity; then he supposed that, on those days he wished his heart would just give out so he'd never have to open his eyes and face his mistakes and failures and shortcomings ever again... on those days, maybe there would be a little love leftover to make him look forward to another tomorrow.

No, Lance was still a long way from being healed, but Dr. Luxia seemed to know that the best medicine for him was not something Dr. Slav could prescribe (which, technically, Dr. Slav had said too but Lance just didn't like the guy and therefore he deserved no credit). Lance nuzzled behind Keith's ear, inhaling deeply and letting the scent of Keith's clean hair and warm skin diffuse across the membranes in his lungs and into his circulation. Keith choked down a bashful giggle (was he ticklish there? Oh, this would be so much fun to exploit later) and tried to swat Lance's face away, but Lance just hooked his chin over the juncture where Keith's neck sloped elegantly into his shoulder.

The first line treatment for his brand of depression was right under his nose. That was exactly where Lance planned on keeping him.

\-----

"So how has school been going, Lance?"

Lance fidgeted a bit in his seat. Dr. Luxia's office usually felt warm and safe and welcoming, but this was Lance's first session to see her without Keith, and he felt a bit exposed. Vulnerable. (It's not like Keith was his human shield or anything, but it was definitely nice to have a buffer so Dr. Luxia's attention wasn't entirely focused on him.)

"Uh, it's been okay, I guess? I'm on a pediatric rotation now, and it's pretty cool."

Well, it was. Most of the time. Lance had been doing better at getting out of bed and doing real functioning human being things, and he honestly really loved working with the kids. They made it a lot easier for him to reach some of his weekly goals, like remembering to eat and taking the time and effort to shower in the morning. But it completely wrenched his guts when he saw how _sick_ they got, and he almost threw up just hearing about a kid who passed away overnight during handover--she was a four-year-old with an unresectable brain tumor. Lance knew her prognosis was shit since this tumor was a recurrence from a previous one they cut out of her as a baby, and its location meant they couldn't do anything for her. He had to take a mental health leave for the rest of that day, and Hunk kept calling to check on him and make sure he didn't do anything stupid and self-destructive, like take a bath with his phone plugged in and dunking it in the tub. Keith was also texting him non-stop, and it was both sweet and unnerving to have that much attention. In reality, he just felt drained and shitty and spent the entire day buried under his covers until Keith essentially spoon-fed him before letting him roll over and go back to sleep.

Dr. Luxia nodded understandingly. Lance was infinitely grateful that this woman was nothing like Dr. Slav, who still made him want to put his fist through a wall (or, preferably, the psychiatrist's aggravating face, but Lance figured going to jail would also be counterproductive to his life plan).

"It does sound like you're making progress, though! Tell me, how are you doing with Keith?"

"Good, I think," Lance answered, fiddling with the zip on his jacket (it was actually Keith's, the red and white one. His boyfriend left it at Lance and Hunk's apartment the previous night after Lance fell asleep on the couch at some point; Keith covered him with the jacket instead of trying to hoist Lance up and into bed. Lance shrugged it on in the morning because it was still warm and smelled familiar, like Keith, even though the sleeves were too short and it was a bit tight around his shoulders). He didn't take it off even though the ambient temperature in the office was pleasant--it was a subconscious last line of defense against Dr. Luxia's therapeutic mind invasions.

"You were telling me that the date went well! I'm glad."

"Yeah, it was nice. We sort of just... existed together. It was comfortable."

"I'm happy to hear that, Lance, but you sound a bit disappointed. What's wrong?"

Lance bit his bottom lip, dragging his teeth over it before answering. "I um... you won't tell Keith anything from what we talk about, right?"

Dr. Luxia nodded. "Of course. I told you at our first visit that everything you say stays confidential between us, unless I have concerns about you hurting yourself or others, or if I suspect any mistreatment of minors in any way. Unless you or Keith divulge something that you specifically tell me to share with the other party, it will be kept confidential."

Lance hummed. "Okay, well... I guess I'm just worried that... communication is _really_ not our strong suit, and one of our friends said something the other day that makes me think Keith might be hiding something from me."

"Oh? What are you worried he might have to hide?"

Lance fixed his gaze on the gap between the sofa cushion and its armrest.

"Our friend Pidge... she's recently gotten really involved in this human rights group on campus. She has been organizing this art show to raise awareness for LGBTQ+ rights, even though she's got zero--and I mean _zero_ \--artistic inclination. She did do a few cool metal trash sculpture-things for the show, which are kind of glorified mannequins compared to the robots she can make, let me tell ya... but anyway, she asked Keith to attend the event with her, and apparently Keith turned her down. She was pretty pissed off."

That was putting it very mildly. Pidge was _irate_. She went on a half-hour long tirade about how much the event meant to her and how much of an asshole Keith was being for refusing to go, and then diverged onto a tangent about how Keith had been terrible at showing up to a bunch of other things he was supposed to show up for. Most of them sounded pretty benign, like joining Pidge and Hunk for dinner or meeting Allura for something, but it sounded like what Pidge was _really_ upset about was Keith disappearing when he had agreed to get flowers for Pidge and her older brother, Matt, to bring to their parents' gravesite since it was the anniversary of their deaths. Pidge had once told Lance and Hunk the story as they were sprawled on the apartment floor, eating pizza and playing video games late into the night. Hunk couldn't stop blubbering the whole time--Pidge's parents were researchers, and they went to a conference in West Africa. Shortly after they arrived, however, there was an outbreak of some viral disease spread through contaminated water, and they returned home after they were cremated there. Pidge had only been six years old, and Matt was fourteen. They went to live with their grandparents, who had the apartment next door to Keith and Shiro. Shiro and Matt quickly became best friends as they walked to and from school together, and Keith sort of became Pidge's sworn protector or something. That part was cute, though tragic in circumstance. (Okay, yeah, Lance shed like one manly tear, but he could not hold a candle to Hunk's veritable waterworks.)

Keith was one of the first people Pidge actually opened up to after their parents died, and Pidge was technically Keith's only friend as they were growing up. Hence, the hurt ran really deep when Keith flaked on something so important to Pidge and Matt, and it was out of character enough that Lance wouldn't have believed it if not for the angry, indignant tears in Pidge's eyes when he tried to gently suggest that maybe something happened. She turned two infernos of blazing fury onto him, and he felt like he might shrivel and wither into nothing under the weight of her gaze.

"Nothing could excuse that, Lance! Nothing! Who was there when his mom died? Me and Matt. Who was there when his dad left? We were! Other than Shiro, we were all he had, once. Just because he has a d--"

And then Pidge's mouth clicked shut and she slammed her fists down on the coffee table (which made everything rattle and Hunk looked mildly horrified at the sound of random crap clattering to the ground elsewhere in their apartment).

"I just don't know what she was going to say," Lance confessed, a gnawing pit of doubt opening up at the bottom of his stomach. "I asked, but she just clammed up and didn't even finish what she was ranting about before."

"She probably realised it wasn't her place to tell you whatever it was, Lance," Dr. Luxia said gently. "You couldn't ask your friend to disclose something personal if its not hers to share. I admire the strength of her loyalty and resolve for keeping those things private even while so upset. Whatever it is, you will have to give Keith some time and space to come forward himself. Otherwise, you could ask him, if you want, but you also have to be prepared for him to refuse or to get an answer you may not like."

Lance chewed lightly on his lip before sighing. "Yeah, I know you're right. I just wonder if maybe it's something about me? Did I do something wrong?"

Dr. Luxia scooted closer on her office chair and put a comforting hand on Lance's knee.

"I know it's hard, Lance, but you can't always think that you did something wrong or that things are your fault. Do you remember how we talked about those thinking traps? There are probably many things going on and you have no control and no involvement in them, so there's no point in stressing yourself out."

Lance's eyes flickered up to hers, and her face was open and kind.

"My brain knows you're right, but I dunno if I can get my dumb freaking heart to get with the program."

Dr. Luxia chuckled. "I get that. It's okay, your feelings are absolutely valid and you need some time to sort them out. But ultimately you will need to figure out a way to let this go until you can talk to Keith about it directly, otherwise you're going to worry yourself into an ulcer!"

_(I want to tell you, I promise. And I promise not to take almost forever.)_

"Yeah, I hope he'll be able to talk to me about it. Soon."

Dr. Luxia smiled and gave his knee a few short pats. "Hoping is all you can do at the moment." She pushed away a bit by digging her heels into the ground and stretching her legs. "How have your happiness goals been coming along?"

The happiness goals were a list of ten things she asked him to write down at their first visit that he would aim to achieve by approximately one goal per session. Keith had written a list as well, but they hadn't shared them with one another--this sort of thing was profoundly personal, and Lance felt way too self-conscious to share them. Keith mentioned that he wanted to share his at some point, to keep him accountable for them, but didn't want to pressure Lance into reciprocating and thus kept them to himself.

The very last goal was supposed to be something big, while the other goals could be little things, like eating three meals a day for a whole week. So far, Lance was on track, but his big goal always intimidated him.

  1. _Start a research project (?Dr. Alfor)_



"Uh, I kept my second goal to do all my chores in the apartment this week," he said.

"That's wonderful, Lance! You're doing great. Have you also been looking into ways of making your big goal happen?"

He shook his head, but Dr. Luxia didn't look disappointed at all. She just kept smiling.

"That's alright, you've still got tons of time. I'd also be happy to help you think of ways to get started, if you're stuck. Just let me know."

"Thanks, Dr. Luxia."

He looked back down at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand, creased to oblivion from being in and out of his pockets. He thumbed the edge of Keith's jacket sleeve, sitting midway up his forearm. The leather was smooth and buttery, even after enduring so much wear. He wondered where Keith had gotten it. There was just so much he didn't know and was too afraid to ask.

_...you have to be prepared for him to refuse or to get an answer you may not like._

"I think our time is up for today, but I'll see you next week, Lance."

He tucked the list back into the pocket of his jeans.

"See you next week."

\-----

Lance had some bad days, some really bad days, and some good days. Good days usually involved Pidge coming over and talking his ear off about whatever it was she was building and testing in mechatronics, and Hunk beaming at him as he sat and ate with them in the living room midway through binge-watching _Orange is the New Black_.

After one of those good days, Lance looked at his reflection in the mirror while he brushed his teeth. The state of his skin was dismal--where he once kept his complexion pristine, he could see the bags under his eyes and pores in all sorts of states of disrepair.

He painstakingly applied his night mask, and found the familiar (if recently disused) motions comforting. The cucumber-melon scent was soothing and he enjoyed the satisfying tightness he felt as the mask dried.

Hunk was still at the lab, probably staying late after meeting up with Shay for a mini-dinner date. They were sometimes so cute it made Lance want to puke, but in a bro-like good way. When there was a knock at the apartment door, it could only have been Keith or Pidge, and judging by the fact that it was almost midnight Lance guessed it was the former.

With zero shame he answered the door, fluffy blue slippers and bathrobe in situ and face still covered in a layer of dried mint-green paste. As expected, it was Keith on the other side--presumably popping in after his night shift at the nursing home.

"Hey, babe," Lance greeted casually, because he decided that if Keith wanted to bask in his glorious, dewy, glowing skin then he would also have to appreciate the kind of work that went into maintaining it.

Keith froze on the spot, mouth slack and eyes wide. Well, Lance honestly didn't expect that kind of reaction, but tried to let it roll off of him as he ushered the other boy inside. As soon as he turned to shut the apartment door he heard a wet sniff over his shoulder. When he took in the tears swimming in Keith's eyes, he felt panic rising like bile in his throat.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

Keith seemed to snap out of a daze, blinking rapidly. It made the tears slip down his cheeks, which he scrubbed at with both hands. His answer was stifled in his glove-covered palms.

Lance gently circled his hands around Keith's wrists and pulled them away from his boyfriend's face. Keith still refused to look at him, so Lance hooked a finger under his chin and pulled his eyes up to meet his own.

"Hey, what's going on?"

"It's your dumb _face_ ," Keith croaked, and Lance might've been insulted if not for the way Keith's voice wavered and cracked on the last word. It should have been offensive, but for some reason it made Lance's chest feel too small for his lungs.

"What the hell are you talking about?" (Okay yeah he was a little offended, but it still came out 98% concerned and only 2% angry.)

He gathered Keith to his chest and threaded his fingers into dark, silky hair. Keith tucked his nose into the divot between Lance's collarbones.

"Seriously, it's your face," Keith said hoarsely, and he was definitely _not_ winning any boyfriend points for this goddamn explanation. "I haven't seen you put this much effort into your stupid skincare shit in--" and then he barked out a weird sob-laugh, kind of like a sea lion. It was gross and snotty but his voice warbled on the end of his laugh and his smile was still as stunning as always underneath all the tears and mucus.

Then it clicked.

"Oh," Lance said.

"Yeah," Keith agreed. He nuzzled into Lance's fluffy bathrobe.

"What the fuck," Lance accused, but didn't pull away, "are you actually wiping your face on my bathrobe?"

"No."

"Goddamn it, Kogane," he growled, but he couldn't stop grinning like an imbecile. A sparkly, giddy sensation blossomed outward from the arch of his aorta, making his lips and face tingle and his fingers feel numb. His heart wasn't impressed with the extra workload, but Lance wouldn't have had it any other way.

It was just so _normal_ , like things had shifted from the Twilight Zone back into the land of the ordinary. Lance used to meticulously apply his face mask every night like it was doctrine, and he had fallen all the way off that routine. He didn't want to get Keith's hopes up too much that this was a sign for the better, but he also didn't have it in him to squash down the tiny tentative waves of happiness exuding from his normally stoic boyfriend.

"Your mind works in some strange ways, _cariño_ ," he murmured into Keith's crown, "sometimes I gotta wonder what goes on in this head of yours."

Keith let out a watery laugh. "You don't wanna know, trust me."

"For the record, I am making you do my next load of laundry and it is entirely your fault. You are 100% to blame if this bathrobe is not at the same level of fluffy soft amazingness because you soaked it through with your snot. I want to feel like I'm wrapped in cotton candy baby angel feather _bliss_ , you asshole."

Keith coughed, but didn't protest. Lance could feel his scowl against the skin of his collarbone. He hugged Keith tighter and smiled as sinewy arms wound around him and clutched fistfuls of his robe. Keith sniffled into his shoulder, but Lance kindly chose not to comment on it this time.

\-----

"I um... I can't make it to your next counselling session," Keith said quietly. Lance shrugged. It wasn't like they had to go to every appointment together anyway.

"Okay, cool."

Keith fiddled with the hem of his hoodie--well, Lance's hoodie, but no one was keeping track aside from the odd flips Lance's stomach did seeing Keith swaddled in his clothes, because that shit was pretty adorable.

"I told Pidge that I'd go with her to... the thing. Her... thing?"

"Uh, okay, dude, that sounds really dubious to me. Is there something catastrophic about to happen that I need to blame on you when the cops come calling?"

"What? No, you idiot," Keith's words definitely lost their heat with the little quirk of his lips and pinkness riding his cheekbones. "I told her before that I couldn't go because of... some stuff. With Shiro. But he's been doing okay, so... I figured..."

"When did she get this sudden interest in art stuff, anyway?"

Lance looked up from his laptop where he was compiling diagrams for his upcoming presentation on Kawasaki Disease. Citations were a giant unforgiving bitch and a half.

Keith picked at nonexistent smudges on his fingertips. "Since she started getting really into that campus group--they had a lot of discussions on gender identity and stuff. I think it's good for her to get exposure to like-minded individuals."

"God, you sound like such a mom."

"Ugh, don't call me that, that's so creepy."

"Okay, whatever, _Mom_."

"Ew!"

Lance chuckled and went back to putting together his presentation. It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, and he was sitting on the floor opposite Keith at the coffee table in his living room. Keith was twirling a pocket knife absentmindedly over and over in his hands--Lance would have been worried if he hadn't seen Keith do it a million times before.

"She spent a lot of time putting together this art show, and I know it's really important to her, but she didn't ask Hunk or me to go with her."

Keith's hands stilled. "O-oh," he stuttered.

"This is something she wants your support for, Keith, and I'm really glad you're going with her."

Keith sighed and crawled over to where Lance was sitting cross-legged on a pillow on the floor. He draped his arms around Lance's waist and sidled up into Lance's space before worming his way onto Lance's lap, head cushioned in the well between Lance's thighs.

"I know. This is her way of forgiving me, I guess, that she's even bringing me now. She probably told you that I fucked up and we had a bit of a fight, then, huh?"

Lance hummed noncommittally, saving his slideshow presentation before closing his laptop and leaning back onto his hands so he could stare down at Keith's face.

"Yeah, she mentioned that you ditched her and Matt, basically." He didn't want to push too far too fast, so he lobbed the ball into Keith's court to see where he'd go with it.

Keith's features twisted in guilt and shame. "I was on my way back, actually. I had the flowers, and then Shiro called me... They wanted to kick him out, Lance."

"They what?"

"The paramedicine program. They told him he wasn't meeting expectations, and they put him on this bullshit academic probation for the rest of the term. He has to restart the term in the spring, and if he can't keep up they're terminating his enrollment."

Lance felt his face go hot with anger. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "They--that's fucking ridiculous. They can't do that! That has to be illegal. He has a legitimate medical condition preventing him from being able to--"

"Meet the requirements of the program," Keith gritted out, finishing for him. Lance clenched his jaw. That was so unfair!

"He just sounded so lost, Lance. His voice went completely _wrong_ , I can't even explain it. I just tried to keep him on the phone and the next thing I knew I was at the college and we just sat on the stairs for a really long time. I forgot I was even holding the flowers until after they were crushed. Shiro didn't even notice they were there."

Lance frowned.

"Did you tell Pidge all of that? Or Matt?"

Keith inhaled sharply and pursed his lips, exhaling out of his nose. It was something Lance noticed he did when he had to pull his thoughts together.

"Afterward, yeah. She was so pissed off she didn't give me the time of day for almost a week. But Shiro told Matt, and I think Matt said something to Pidge because then she was listening. She was still mad as hell but she also wanted to make sure we were okay."

Lance carded his fingers through Keith's hair, keeping a consistent rhythm of combing up and smoothing down the soft tresses fanned out in his lap.

"Did I ever tell you that Matt was in the army with Shiro?"

Lance tilted his head slightly to the side. Keith didn't usually volunteer information, so he didn't want to interrupt and derail him by confessing that Pidge had told him about some of his brother's past.

"They enlisted together. It was the easiest way for two teenagers fresh out of high school to make enough money to feed us and make rent and stuff. My dad left us before Shiro graduated, so Pidge's grandparents basically took us in. Matt and Shiro were away for five years, then the grenade thing happened and Shiro was sent back on honourable discharge. Matt finished the campaign a few months later, and joined the police force to stay closer to Pidge."

"Wow," Lance said, at a loss for any other response.

"He still has nightmares about it," Keith said, staring off at something only he could see. Lance suspected it might have something to do with waking up to Shiro's screaming and shaking and crying in the middle of the night, but Keith seemed to be done talking about it.

"I talked to Dr. Alfor, you know," he said, pointedly changing the subject. Keith's eyes snapped to attention on his face. "Allura set up an appointment for me to meet him, and he said he'd take me on for that research project."

(Goal #10 was actually being met, holy shit.)

Keith shot up out of Lance's lap, both hands gripping Lance's shoulders tight enough to bruise.

"Holy shit," he breathed, echoing Lance's thoughts. "That's amazing! I'm... wow, I'm so proud of you, Doc."

He drew him into a hug, which Lance returned with a grin.

"I was actually hoping you'd tell me a bit about... uh, your research. Before--you know." He hid his face bashfully in Keith's mop of hair, but his boyfriend pulled back so they were facing each other.

"Sure, yeah. I mean, I'm working under one of my supervisors at the university, so I'm still kinda involved." Keith looked at Lance like Lance made him breathless, and then proceeded to plant a closed-mouth kiss on his lips, almost shy.

"I'm just so... I'm so proud of you! That's amazing. This is amazing. You're amazing." (It was as if Keith couldn't generate the words he actually wanted to say and was settling for "amazing", but the way it made Lance feel lightheaded was pretty amazing, that's for sure.)

Keith launched into a rapid-fire crash course on cellular immunology that sort of glossed over in Lance's mind. He was too busy gaping, astounded at how much Keith was _talking_ , and the passion that burned behind every syllable.

"...and so it can basically make the major histocompatibility complex, or "MHC", irrelevant! We could literally transplant anyone's organs into anyone else."

Keith's eyes shone as he talked about his intimidatingly deep investment in transplantation research. It was truly a sight to behold--his face lit up and he really sounded _happy_ in a way much brighter than simple enthusiasm. Lance had never seen him look so _light_ , as if a huge weight was lifted from him, the ropes constricting him were cut, and he could spread his wings to full length. It was hypnotic. Lance just let Keith's words flow right over his head, instead listening to the way Keith's voice lilted and soared with excited energy, like a song's bridge building up to a grand finale.

"That's amazing," Lance said, awestruck, _lovestruck_ , and there was no point even trying to deny the timid flutter of his pulse as he soaked in the flush radiating off of Keith's pretty cheekbones, the other boy's slim chest rising and falling with his rapid breathing. Violet eyes glittered as they met Lance's, and Lance could feel the telltale tingly numbness in his fingertips and toes crawling up toward his wrists and ankles. He flexed and extended his fingers a few times, squeezing them into fists and shaking them out. Keith's gaze dropped to observe, expression twisting into concern.

"Hey, are you okay?" he said softly, his previously unguarded smile slowly hardening into a frown. Lance's heart mourned the loss, but fortunately this brought the feeling back into his extremities.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he replied, smiling broadly. Keith's lips slowly molded into a tentative smile in return. (Jeez, Lance's heart was not going to be able to handle this much rate variation!)

They sat in comfortable silence, their backs pressed against Lance's coffee table (which, in retrospect, was incredibly uncomfortable) and their shoulders brushing with every inhale.

"Do you think... do you think they'll be able to transplant peoples' organs like that someday soon?" he asked, tone wistful and mind already far away. Maybe his heart wouldn't be the limiting factor putting an expiry date on their relationship. Maybe they could save him and he could live seventy more years just like this, with Keith by his side and laughter engraving deeper and deeper crinkles around their mouths and eyes. Maybe he wouldn't have to say the goodbyes he kept writing and re-writing in the notebook beneath his bed, tucked between boxes of old comic books and clothes he is grateful to have lived to outgrow.

Maybe, with Dr. Alfor letting him join one of his projects, they'd be able to make a prosthetic heart, no donor needed.

A pause followed wherein neither of them said anything. Seconds later, Keith's floppy, soft hair was tucked under the line of Lance's jaw, the shorter boy's cheek pillowed on Lance's shoulder.

"I think they could do it now, if they had someone willing to try."

Lance let that thought sit on his tongue like a spoonful of his mother's flan, the kind that melted like custard and tasted like caramel. If only reality were so sweet.

"I'd be willing to try," Lance found himself saying. "I would take any heart if it meant we could have more tomorrows." (But was that entirely true? He thought of that poor woman's family, and how her children would remember her as a hero post-mortem, but she would never pick them up from school or pack their lunches or scold them for fighting ever again.)

He felt Keith draw an aborted inhale that caught in the other's throat. Keith turned his face into the hollow between Lance's collarbone and the swell of his deltoid (right over the tendon of his pectoralis major, but he wasn't about to complain about the odd twinge he felt when Keith's nose nudged it).

"You're such a _sap_ ," he whined. Lance scoffed and turned his head to nudge his chin into the back of Keith's head in retaliation.

"Don't patronize me for expressing my feelings!"

"Then don't express such corny sentiments!"

"Who are you calling corny? You're the one who gets all teary-eyed when I play you my songs!"

Keith pressed his face harder into Lance's chest to hide his embarrassment. His next words came out muffled in Lance's T-shirt.

"Come on, they're really good! Plus some of the lyrics are basically chick-flick material, so..."

Lance laughed, threading his fingers through Keith's hair and gently pulling his head away from his chest so he could look his boyfriend in the eye.

"Oh, and _you_ are calling _me_ sappy, huh? Pot, I think you need to say hello to my little friend: kettle."

He swooped in to press a feather-light kiss to the corner of Keith's mouth. Keith chuckled and swatted at him half-heartedly, allowing Lance to pepper the slender column of his neck in more butterfly kisses. "Ugh! I hate you."

Lance grinned against Keith's pale skin. "Nah, you love me," he jibed good-naturedly. He pulled away just in time to see Keith's features melt into fondness and affection. He reached out a hand and cupped Lance's cheek.

"Okay, yeah, maybe I do, idiot."

Neither of them could really tell who leaned in to close the gap first, but it didn't matter. Their lips met sweetly, just contact and barely-there pressure. Keith's lips were warm and dry and slightly chapped, but Lance couldn't have imagined anything more perfect than this boy in this moment with him.

\-----

They went to the planetarium again because they could, and it was free, and Lance liked how the fake stars dappled Keith's skin in freckles of light that he could press his fingertips against. They held hands and sat there, Lance regaling his paramour with harrowing stories of his childhood (some of them legitimately harrowing, like the time he was in kindergarten and had his first bout of infective endocarditis but he was so damn determined to finish his Mother's Day card with the blue crayon that he ripped it when his teacher pried it out of his hands and he cried so hard he passed out in the paramedic's arms; some not so legitimately harrowing, like the time he and Hunk were supposed to learn one of the poi dances but got distracted by a gecko and spent the rest of the afternoon trying to catch it so they could scare one of Lance's sisters with it). He talked about how much he missed summers with Hunk's family, traversing the island and dreaming about building a raft to sail the seas; how much he missed his brothers and playing volleyball on the beach; how he got pictures from his youngest sister's quinceanera, his whole family crowded around her with huge smiles and someone had saved his place with his convocation picture (but not before someone else had used a window marker on it to draw a moustache and a monocle, which Lance wished he could honestly say he hated but it looked pretty suave), and how that made him feel both hollowed out and too full simultaneously.

At some point he started crying, and he didn't want to be as embarrassed as he was. He and Keith were the only people in the planetarium anyway, other than the bored undergrad student manning the admissions table outside. Keith kissed his hairline and his forehead, clasping his hand tighter and silently conveying comfort. Lance leaned into him. He'd been homesick for a long time, but it was hard to deal with how depressed it made him feel lately.

"Let's head home?" Keith suggested, thumbing away the tears on Lance's cheeks. Lance nodded and let Keith tenderly wipe away the rest of the moisture on his skin, then he turned his head to kiss the pads of Keith's fingers.

On the way back to Lance's apartment, Keith started to look a little pale and shaky. Lance all but threw him into his bed and told him to stay put while he grabbed some water and Tylenol.

"And don't puke on my bed, Kogane!" he barked from the kitchen.

"It's just a headache!" Keith yelled back defensively.

"I've seen you vomit for like, three straight hours with a migraine," Lance chided, handing Keith a half-full glass and two regular strength Tylenols.

Keith grimaced but downed the pills and the water, setting the empty cup aside and reaching out blindly for Lance in the dark. Lance huffed out a laugh and let Keith sling his arms around his neck and yank him down to the mattress. Lance's laugh was smothered in Keith's neck, where he decided to set to work drawing up a hickey, giggling to himself as he thought of the scandalized looks the old folks in the nursing home would shoot Keith's way as a result. There would also probably be one of those inappropriate elderly ladies that would raise her eyebrows suggestively. He felt a violent shudder work its way down Keith's spine, and it brought his thoughts decidedly out of the nursing home and back to the present. In his bed. He nipped playfully at the reddened skin and savoured the way Keith's hips jolted up off the sheets.

"I've got a headache and you're trying to seduce me?" Keith said, voice strained and a little husky. Well, Lance's libido seemed to have returned from wherever it had fucked off to in the last several weeks. Keith's eyes were huge and glassy and luminous in the sliver of light spilling into the room from the bedroom door standing ajar.

"Can't help it." He kissed a trail along Keith's jaw and smirked at the drawn out groan he extracted from Keith's lips.

"Lance, are you sure you wanna do this?"

"It's not like we haven't made out before." His fingers crept up underneath Keith's T-shirt, playing with the ridges and planes of flesh they found beneath them.

"Lance!" Keith yelped as Lance tweaked a nipple.

"What? The rush of endorphins will probably make you feel better!" he sing-songed.

Keith grunted in response, but went pliable under the languid pressure of Lance's hands skimming his sides. His eyes fluttered shut, and Lance admired the pretty curl of his eyelashes against his cheekbones as he continued to explore Keith's skin.

Eventually, they were back to making out. Keith kissed him like a drowning man finally breaking the surface of the water, taking desperate, greedy breaths as if each one would be his last before he was dragged back under. Lance kissed back with just as much fervent passion and urgency, hands fisting in Keith's hair. There was a bumpy line buried in Keith's hair a few inches behind his ear, but the thought quickly flew out of Lance's mind as Keith rolled them over and straddled his hips.

"You were right, the endorphins are definitely helping." He grinned wolfishly and brushed his lips over Lance's carotid pulse.

"Ugh, Keith, you gorgeous bastard, get up here and kiss me properly."

Keith complied, surging up to meet Lance's mouth. The movement rocked their _very_ interested anatomy against one another, and Lance swallowed Keith's groan.

"Do you trust me?" he whispered against Keith's lips.

Keith's eyes burned holes into his own, their foreheads pressed together and noses bumping, both of them breathing harshly into the barely-there space between them.

"I trust you, Doc."

Lance cupped the back of Keith's head and pulled him in for another searing kiss, reaching for as much of Keith's shirt as he could get his hands on and assisting him in shedding it. He revelled in the creamy smooth skin of Keith's back and shoulders, the way his pupils were blown wide and his hair was in total disarray--he looked like a debauched, love-drunk mess, and Lance relished it.

He could hardly suppress the whine when Keith climbed off of him and out of the bubble they were both enraptured in.

"Where are you going?" Lance pouted.

Keith rolled his eyes as he shut and locked the door with a definitive 'click'. Oh, okay, fair. It probably would've been incredibly mortifying to have Hunk barge in on them muddling through their first attempt at sex.

Lance's face felt cold but there was a hot coil of lust in his gut. As Keith jumped back on the bed while throwing one of his legs back over Lance's hips in a mouthwatering display of flexibility and athleticism, Lance choked a bit on his own spit and pressed his hand against Keith's chest.

"Okay, before we... uh, before this goes any further, I have to disclose that I've never... done anything. Like this. Ever. With anyone." His heart rate was skyrocketing and he started counting to ten with every inhale. It would be very embarrassing to pass out midway through losing his virginity as a(n almost) grown-ass adult man. (They were both virgins, that much had already been discussed, but other than that they hadn't really gone into any detail about how far they _had_ gone in the past.)

Keith gave him one of those heart-melting little smiles and kissed the corner of Lance's eye.

"It's okay, I won't do anything your heart can't handle." (But then he went and ground his hips down into Lance's crotch with this circular motion that was pure _sin_ , and Lance had serious doubts about whether or not he was going to survive his first sexual encounter. Fuck.)

Keith leaned down and gingerly held Lance's cheek in his hand, a movement that seemed oddly innocent considering the proximity of Keith's shapely ass to Lance's dick. "But seriously, Doc, you let me know if it gets to be too much. We'll take it slow."

The reversal of their roles was not lost on Lance. He nodded and swallowed around the lump of arousal and the stirrings of anxiety in his stomach. They had made it this far--he didn't want his self-deprecation and insecurities to cockblock him tonight. Keith reached for the hem of Lance's shirt, but Lance caught both his wrists.

"Can... can you leave it on?" He hoped Keith would think his uneven breathing was a result of pure arousal, instead of the combination of apprehension and lust muddled in his brain.

Keith nodded and flattened both his hands onto Lance's chest, and took three deep, slow breaths that Lance found himself imitating. He was lost in the intense focus of Keith's eyes, trained solely on him. His vision no longer wavered and the black splotches were gone.

"Just relax, breathe, and let me do all the work."

Well, fuck, those words went straight to Lance's cock and he honestly didn't know if he'd ever been harder in his life. Keith helped him out of his own jeans, and then he was seated back in the arc of Lance's hips. His slim, tapered fingers traced the thick, puckered scars raised like ugly sentries stationed on either side of Lance's sternum through the thin fabric of his shirt. Lance tried not to let himself tense.

"You still with me, Lance?"

Lance nodded, and Keith kissed him soft and slow, lavishing Lance's lips and tongue in swipes of molten desire. He kept his hips still, and it was a blessing and a curse--Lance was unsuccessful at trying to stop himself from bucking up against Keith's ass, desperately seeking some kind of friction for respite from the growing heat at the base of his abdomen. His scars tingled under cotton.

"I have... uh, stuff. In the drawer."

Keith thankfully knew what he meant and found the condoms and lube without any fuss. Lance's cheeks coloured as Keith squinted at the best-before dates on the packages.

"You got these free at the orientation week presentations, didn't you?" he laughed, popping the cap on the bottle of lube while shimmying out of his boxer-briefs.

"Well, I wasn't gonna actually pay money if I didn't even have a significant other at the time," Lance mumbled indignantly. Keith kissed his nose and shifted his legs so he was basically hovering over Lance, one hand planted on the mattress above Lance's shoulder and the other between his legs. Lance felt his heart rate pick up again and had to forcibly breathe in through his mouth and out through his nose to make the floaties in his vision dissipate.

"Just relax and keep breathing," Keith rasped, his breathing going ragged. Lance watched the emotions and sensations play out in the changes of Keith's expression, the way his mouth fell open into a soft, round 'o', and his cheeks flushed under the shadow of his eyelashes. They had both acclimatized to the darkness, reading the cues to one another's bodies in the shimmer of moonlight from the cracks between the blinds illuminating the folds of the sheets underneath them. Lance imagined the movement of Keith's fingers, pressing and stretching and sliding, and suddenly the air was too thick and heavy to breathe.

"Hey, come on, stay with me," Keith said coaxingly, peppering kisses to Lance's lips, cheeks, forehead. Lance could feel Keith's arms trembling under his weight, the litany of moans that escaped with every breath puffing against Lance's skin and raising a crop of goosebumps on Lance's arms.

"Were you faking that headache, Kogane?"

Keith huffed out a laugh. "No. But these endorphin things are--ah!--good fucking painkillers."

Lance really, really tried to keep his heart rate in check as Keith deftly slid his underwear off one-handed and rolled the condom down his erection, but his pulse kept accelerating until he couldn't keep his thoughts on track. He definitely babbled about the will of God or something as Keith took his turgid arousal in hand and pumped it once, twice, from root to tip and back. Lance's eyes rolled back in his head. Everything was numb except for that point of contact, and the anticipation paralyzed every muscle he could've used for ventilation.

"Hey! Hey, Doc, breathe!" Lance coughed, trying to get air moving in and out of his lungs but forgetting how, too distracted by the hot, tight tunnel of Keith's hand, which had stopped moving. He nearly sobbed, but didn't have enough oxygen to even do that.

"Lance, breathe with me, okay? One. Two. You're doing great. You're okay. Three. It's okay. Four."

Lance felt the sensation flooding back into his limbs and coherency returning to his thoughts.

"Five, six. Lance?"

He drank in the colour high on Keith's cheekbones, the heat and the smell of salt between them, like their most intimate of bonding moments had created their own ocean.

"Yeah?"

Keith's mouth thinned into a straight line (probably the only thing about him that was straight, amirite? ...Okay, so there was a return of _some_ coherency to Lance's mind. Clearly the rest of it had suffered ischemic watershed damage while all of his blood rushed south). "I think we should stop."

Lance frowned and slotted his hands over Keith's hipbones, holding him down firmly in his lap.

"No, I want to do this. I want _you_ , Keith. I want to feel you and touch you and make you mine."

The unspoken ‘ _just in case I never get the chance again_ ’ hung between them. Keith blew out a long exhale and plucked one of the discarded pillows off of the floor.

"Okay. Here, move up the bed a bit."

Lance planted his heels and shimmied up the mattress. Keith wiggled his hand under one of Lance's butt cheeks and Lance took the cue to raise his hips. The pillow was unceremoniously wedged under his lower back and his butt.

"It might increase a little bit of the blood flow back to your damn brain if we elevate your hips," Keith explained with a vague wave of his hand. Lance was momentarily distracted by the fact that it was the hand that was still shiny with a bit of lube. He licked his lips.

"And for the record," Keith whispered, suddenly bashful and almost shy, "I've always been yours."

Reverently, Lance fit his fingers into Keith's intercostal spaces, imagining he could feel every breath his lover drew. His other hand traced the cords of muscle drawn taut and tense in Keith's back and shoulders. ( _Mine._ ) He waited for Keith to say something so the bones in his hands would remember the pitch of Keith's voice as it rumbled through layers of skin and muscle and barriers carefully picked apart at the seams because in this moment, Lance felt more vulnerable than ever, and he knew that Keith was stripped bare and open. Phalangeal bones nestled between ribs where neither of them had anything left to hide.

"Lance?"

Lance closed his eyes. He wanted to always remember the shape his name made in the creases and pockets of Keith's lungs, pulsating around his heart. A heart that was whole and unblemished, that had never been touched by human hands. Lance was grateful for all the tissue between Keith's heart and his fingers--he never wanted to disrupt that purity.

"I'm okay," Lance said, giving Keith's thigh a reassuring squeeze. Keith captured his lips in another kiss, searching, pleading. Lance kissed back and hoped that Keith would like his answer.

"Just look at me, okay?"

Lance nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Keith squirted more lube into his hand, and Lance hissed at the shock of cold on his cock, even through the condom. Keith stroked him slowly, gauging the filling of his arousal in his hand, gradually returning to its former state. Lance's breathing stayed steady. Keith shifted to align their hips, his eyes never leaving Lance's face.

The air stuttered in Lance's windpipe as Keith sank down, their bodies joining inch by excruciating inch. Lance counted in his head, breathe in, breathe out, as he watched the minute changes in Keith's expression with every pulse of Lance's flesh inside him. His heart stumbled on every few beats, fighting to keep tempo.

When the globes of Keith's ass met the crux of Lance's pelvis, Keith let out a stifled groan, and his hand shot forward to anchor himself on Lance's chest. Every muscle was drawn tighter than a bowstring, trembling under the tension.

Oh-so-slowly, Keith rocked his hips forward and circled down, and Lance let out a garbled cry. His hands twisted in the sheets below him, scrabbling for some sort of purchase to keep him grounded and give him something to steady his pulse.

" _Dios_ ," he rasped. "Fuck, Keith!"

Keith smirked down at him as he slowly raised and lowered his hips, beginning to ride him in earnest. Lance did his best not to incinerate on the spot. Keith never once changed pace, and Lance thought he was going to go insane. Sweet, sweet torture.

"Oh my God I hate you so so much you are the _worst_ ," he gasped, trying to thrust upward but Keith put a hand on his hip and refused to budge, moving at that maddeningly slow rhythm.

The pressure was accumulating behind Lance's eyeballs and he felt like they'd explode out of his skull if Keith didn't fucking move faster _now_.

"Patience," Keith panted, thighs trembling under the strain, "yields focus."

"Fuck, fuck, fucking _fuck_!"

Eons stretched between them, the only sound filling the room was the slap of skin on skin, their ragged breathing, and Lance's sanity fraying thread by thread. The coil of pleasure in his gut wound tighter and heavier with every push and pull of their bodies, mounting higher until he didn't think he'd be able to make it out of this alive. His knuckles were white as he gripped the sheets, the pleasure decimating him with the ebb and flow of Keith's hips. Keith rode the tide as it gradually swelled into a tsunami, and just when Lance didn't think his impossibly tight heat could choke any more oxygen out of his body, Keith climaxed with a hoarse cry that ripped every semblance of Lance's restraint to shreds. His hips bucked up of their own accord and his vision went white; by some miracle he didn't end up passing out, but when Keith collapsed onto the bed beside him it was a narrow margin. Keith swiveled his hips _just so_ , and Lance thought he was actually going to die as his spent, oversensitive cock slid out of his boyfriend's body.

When he wasn't at immediate risk of expiring, Lance pulled off the condom with a wince, tied it off, and threw it in the general direction of his trash bin. He curled around Keith, who was pleasantly limp and malleable in his post-coital haze. They were both sticky with sweat and other fluids (particularly a long streak of Keith's release painted across the front of Lance's shirt), but neither of them could really muster the energy to care.

"You are gonna be the death of me," he muttered into the shell of Keith's ear, too sated to be grumpy. Keith hummed in response, nudging a leg between Lance's and settling the curve of his spine against Lance's chest. Lance pressed a kiss to the smaller boy's temple. "I love you."

"Love you too," Keith slurred, already mostly asleep.

"We're gonna be disgusting in the morning."

"Shut up and go the fuck to sleep."

"That's romantic."

"Ugh, whatever, Lance."

"Love you."

"You're an asshole."

Lance rolled his eyes and shuffled upward to bury his nose in the nape of Keith's neck. He still smelled salt-sweet, like summer breezes off of the sea.

"Love you," he whispered one more time. Keith's breathing was soft and even, but eventually he mumbled out, "You too, you idiot."

It made Lance's chest ache, but it was a good kind of ache; it was the kind of ache that settles in your muscles after a good workout, and Lance supposed that love was a form of exercise for his heart.

He mused about the issues with grants and funding for a research project on cardiac love rehabilitation until he fell asleep, vaguely aware of the way his heart was thudding against his ribs as if it were trying to get as close as possible to Keith.

\-----

They were really gross in the morning--Lance had to peel his shirt off of both of them, which made him cringe and Keith wrinkle his nose (cutely, but definitely in disgust). He self-consciously turned his back as he yanked the tee over his head, but Keith shuffled up behind him and rested his cheek on Lance's bare shoulder. Lance froze as warm hands traced the stretched and mangled skin of his chest with feather-light touches, almost like brushstrokes connecting the dots.

"You don't have to hide from me," Keith said, and Lance could feel his lips moving against the spine of his scapula. Keith's palms pressed fully against the rough, uneven scars and his arms tightened around Lance's torso in a strong embrace. "I promise I'll always love all of you, no matter what."

(No, those were not tears in Lance's eyes, okay? The glossiness was a trick of the light and he didn't sniffle, nope, not him.)

"Fuck, you're perfect," he choked out, abruptly turning in Keith's arms and pulling him into a proper hug, arms flung around Keith's neck. The nasty blemishes on his chest rubbed against the smooth skin of Keith's, but Keith just hugged him harder, squeezing Lance's ribs.

They were complete saps, but they also got to take a shower together, so that was a definite plus. (Even at 5:30 in the morning, which was saying something. Lance really cherished his beauty sleep, dammit. But at least it gave him some _very_ good incentive to get out of bed that day. Keith also ran his fingers over the multitude of scars littered over Lance's breastbone, following the path with his lips like he was learning to read Braille and wanted to be able to speak it, too. Lance could feel the spots of heat pinkening his cheeks. He decided that if there was some meaning in the disfigurement of his chest, Keith would find it and hopefully love him just the same, like he promised.)

On Lance's bureau, the single bottle of pills beside the Tylenol and four kinds of night cream (and two different face masks, an apricot scrub, a Costco-sized bottle of lavender bubble bath, and Lance's favourite if slightly overpriced under-eye serum) remained untouched.

They got water all over the floor and Lance wanted to be horrified about it, but he was having too much fun smacking handfuls of shaving cream onto Keith's butt. He withdrew and ran away cackling maniacally before Keith had a chance to retaliate.

\-----

Thankfully, as the cold weather became more and more bitter, it also brought with it the winter holiday. Lance was grateful to have two weeks off to curl up inside under as many blankets as he owned and stay warm. Sure, the snow was pretty and fun (and he really did love it) but it was fucking ice and Lance was used to being loved very thoroughly by endless sunshine back home. His heart also did not appreciate the cold, since it already had such a hard time pumping blood to the miniscule capillary beds in Lance's extremities. He was really not interested in getting frostbite and gangrene, thank you very much.

"I can't go to Allura's New Year's Eve party, Keith, her dad might be there!"

"So?"

"So? He's my research supervisor now! I'm starting as soon as we get back from the break!"

"...So?"

Lance pulled his blanket-hood more snugly around his head.

"So it's freaking awkward, okay?" he pouted into his _divine_ cup of hot chocolate, courtesy of Hunk. "Not to mention inappropriate."

"Lance, you're the one who wore the equivalent of infection control's worst nightmare to the pediatric ward in October."

"It was for Halloween!"

Keith heaved a long-suffering sigh.

"Look, Allura invited us and honestly I feel like Dr. Alfor probably has other shit to attend to than some millenials' New Year's Eve party, okay? I think the worst you'll have to worry about is the fact that Dr. Coran is her uncle."

"Oh God, one of my professors is gonna be there?"

Keith prodded Lance's cocoon of blankets with his toes. "He's not going to be there as your professor, he's just gonna be hanging out with Allura, and us, for a bit. He's probably not even going to stay awake long enough for the countdown."

Lance had some time to think about it as he flew back to Cuba for Christmas. He had invited Keith to come along, but Keith declined--even though the university was technically closed for the holidays, he still had to clock into work at the lab, the hospital, and the nursing home between Christmas and New Year's.

It felt really good to be home, even if it was just for eight days. He would've spent the whole two weeks at home if it weren't for the asshole with the ridiculous mullet waiting for him back in Altea.

"Oh _mijo_ , we were so looking forward to meeting your boyfriend," his mother tutted. Lance's two youngest sisters cooed behind their hands. He rolled his eyes as one of his older brothers punched him jokingly in the shoulder.

"You are so skinny, _mijo_ , are you just wasting away in that medicine school?"

Lance ran a hand through his hair and smiled. It was good to be home.

"Ah! And where is Hunk?" His mother placed a heaping plate of food in front of him and Lance's eyes bulged a bit at the serving. Yeah, no force of sheer will or even the grace of God would enable him to eat all of that in one sitting.

"He went back home, Mama," he said, picking up a fork apprehensively. His mother watched him like a hawk as he took his first bite. As much as he loved Hunk and the guy was basically a culinary mastermind, no one's cooking measured up to his mom's. He luxuriated in the taste for a moment before continuing. "He brought his new girlfriend."

His mother squealed in excitement--Hunk was basically her ninth child, after all. "Oh that is so wonderful!" she said, going starry-eyed as she wiped her hands on her apron. Lance shoveled more of his mother's incredible dish into his mouth. He hadn't really made a dent in the mountain on his plate. It made him smile to imagine what Keith's reaction would have been to his family's variety of hospitality--between his mother and his abuelita, Keith would probably not be able to go anywhere without a heaping plate of food. They'd definitely fuss over him and call him thin and waif-like or something and then proceed to attempt to stuff him with even more food. His sisters would want to line up to braid his hair and his brothers would probably all try to defend Lance's honour and put Keith through a bunch of pointless challenges.

It was really nice to envision Keith surrounded by family, and he liked the idea of all his relatives basically coddling the living daylights out of Keith as he blushed and got all adorably flustered.

Next year, he really had to make sure Keith came. He only had so many Christmases left to celebrate, and he wasn't above using that to guilt-trip Keith into trekking into this yet-uncharted territory.

\-----

"How was it?"

Lance tipped his head to let it rest on Keith's shoulder, nevermind the fact that the height difference put a crick in his neck and he had to bend his knees slightly to actually make contact. He wiggled his arms into the slim triangle of Keith's elbow (yeah, sure, it was cold, but the guy could've taken his hands out of his pockets to make this easier).

Keith flashed a sidelong smile that Lance had really missed for the past week.

"You should've come," he murmured as they walked. His head sort of bounced on Keith's shoulder since they weren't really in sync with one another (Lance had incredibly long model legs and Keith was just a mere mortal, after all). He didn't care how odd they probably looked.

Keith's eyes went soft and he let his temple tap against the top of Lance's head. "I'll try to make it next year."

Lanced grinned and whistled obnoxiously as they made their way to the passenger pickup area of the airport. He didn't let up until Keith shoved his face away and refused to let him re-enter his personal space until he "shut the fuck up".

They sat huddled together in the cab ("Lance, you don't have to sit in the middle, there are only two of us! What are you even--" "But I _missed_ you, _cariño_!" "Oh my God, _fine_." He totally blushed and it was so cute). Lance fiddled with their joined hands on his lap. He had just come from home, but he was happy to be home. He gently pinched the skin between Keith's index and middle fingers, rolling it over the pad of his thumb. Keith watched him silently.

"I missed you."

Keith gave his hand a squeeze.

"I missed you too."

\-----

There was a pile of clothing growing on Lance's bed at an alarming rate as he frantically emptied his closet and drawers. Keith sat on Lance's desk amidst the chaos (he _had_ a chair, but no, Keith was too cool-emo-anime-character edgelord to sit there instead of the top of Lance's desk that had stuff he actually needed to study) with his legs crossed and his arms folded over his chest. He reclined against the wall, peering over his shoulder to watch the disaster unfurl.

"I have nothing to wear tomorrow night," Lance complained in a manly fashion.

"Quit whining, Lance," Keith said with an amused quirk of his lips.

Lance scowled. "I'm not _whining_!" (Okay, yes, that sounded like it could easily be mistaken for whining, but it was still manly complaining.)

Keith raised an eyebrow. Lance huffed in exasperation and dove back into his closet.

"It's not a formal affair or anything," Keith mused. His voice was muffled by the fact that Lance was ensconced in fabric from all directions.

"But Dr. Alfor might be there, I have to make an _impression_!"

"Lance, I told you, even if he does come it'll be like twenty minutes and then he'll be off having better things to do."

"Keith, have you _met_ him? The man is a legend among doctors! He's the most inspiring person I've ever talked to outside my shower fantasies!"

Keith made an unsettling noise that was a cross somewhere between a gag and a snort.

"Y-your _shower fantasies_?"

Lance poked his head out of the closet and made a show of rolling his eyes for his boyfriend's benefit. "Yeah, you know, when you talk to yourself in the shower but you're pretending you're on Ellen or being interviewed on the red carpet or something?"

Keith let out a high-pitched "hmm!" that Lance couldn't really spare the time or effort to decipher, so he went back to trying to find something to wear that wasn't clinically business-casual but nicer than just a pair of jeans and a cardigan.

He was starting to get quite frustrated when strong arms slipped around his waist and a nose bumped into his scapula.

"They're not gonna care what you wear, they just want you to be there."

Lance melted into the embrace, leaning back into Keith's hold. He felt the nervous energy deflate from under his diaphragm, making it infinitely easier to breathe.

Keith rubbed his cheek against the back of Lance's tee, his hair tickling the back of Lance's neck. Lance turned in his arms and wrapped his own around Keith's shoulders, catching the other boy by surprise.

"Oof."

Lance hiked one leg around Keith's thighs, pressing his heel into his boyfriend's butt. Keith's eyes went wide for a moment and he tried to squawk out a protest but Lance was already lifting the other leg and hooking his ankles at the small of Keith's back.

Keith stumbled backward a few steps and somehow he didn't trip over the multitude of articles of clothing strewn across the floor. He grasped behind the bends of Lance's knees to keep him anchored as he tried to compensate for the unexpected extra weight hanging off of his front like an oversized koala. Lance nuzzled into the slope of Keith's neck and pressed his lips to the smooth space behind his ear. Keith's slightly more laboured breathing skimmed his ear and he constricted all his gangly limbs around his Keith-tree.

"Jesus," Keith wheezed. "What are you, five?"

"If you're talking about a score out of ten, I'm a twelve, actually."

Keith chuckled (it only sounded a little bit strained). "Give a guy a little warning next time, dude."

"Are you implying I'm fat?" Lance snapped.

"Well, you were going on and on about how your mom fed you for the last week."

Lance took a dramatic gasp. He let one of his feet drop to the back of Keith's knee and gave it a sharp rap with his heel. Predictably, Keith made a noise like a wounded parrot and they tumbled down into the giant heap of clothes occupying Lance's bed. Lance crashed down on top of him, so understandably Keith was pretty winded. Lance stuck his tongue out. Keith eventually regained enough lung inflation and presence of mind to flip him off.

Keith threw the first item of clothing that he felt under his hand, and it hit Lance square in the face. Sure, so maybe he deserved that. Lance caught the shirt before it could fall back onto the bed.

"Oh! Perfect, I can wear this!" It was one of Lance's favourite cotton turtleneck shirts, which was a rich cream colour and would definitely accentuate the tan he had acquired from his week in the Cuban climate.

Keith flopped back onto the mattress with a groan, but when Lance angled his head to see around the mound of clothes between them, he could see that Keith was smiling.

\-----

Dr. Alfor did end up gracing Allura's party, but he was on his way out as everyone was arriving (Lance included). Lance was correct, as Allura's father greeted them all in turn, and he made sure to rub Keith's face in it at every opportunity he got through the night. He was also pretty relieved that Dr. Alfor didn't end up staying, because just seeing his face made Lance's palms break out into a clammy sweat, and his heart rate ramped up until his head felt like it might float off his neck.

Dr. Alfor kissed Allura's cheek and waved politely at the guests gathered in his daughter's small but swanky apartment. Some jealous part of Lance rejoiced in the fact that Keith was very, very gay, because how could he possibly compete with someone like Allura, who was so gorgeous and intelligent and successful?

Shiro had his intact arm around Allura's waist and he shook Dr. Alfor's hand with his prosthetic one as the man made his way out the door. Allura leaned up on her tip-toes to kiss Shiro's forehead once her father had exited.

They were pretty damn cute, Lance had to admit it. The fact that Allura was dating Keith's brother probably should've silenced the jealous voice in Lance's head but it still whispered nasty things from time to time.

Hunk and Shay emerged from the kitchen bearing delicious morsels of things that Lance couldn't identify but smelled incredible. Pidge and her taller Pidge-looking brother were fighting over what channel to play the countdown on.

"I know you've met Matt already," Keith said under the pleasant din of festivities in Allura's main living area, "but he's completely off-duty tonight and not just popping by to see Pidge, so please don't ask him about his gun or his handcuffs."

Lance filled a cup with what smelled like 90% rum and 0.2% punch (who cared what the rest was composed of? Certainly not Lance).

"Come, now, Keith. Since when have you known me to be so tactless and inappropriate?"

Keith didn't dignify that with an answer and just raised an eyebrow.

There was tons of bomb-diggity, out-of-this-world food (Hunk did most of the cooking but Allura supplied the groceries and the fully-stocked, mostly chrome and stainless steel kitchen) and maybe a _touch_ more alcohol than would be medically advisable for Lance to consume, but he had a great time overall. They chatted about random things, laughed, and it was nice to be surrounded by so much love and warmth. Plus, watching Pidge and Matt bicker only made Lance miss his siblings a little, and it wasn't overwhelming or depressing. Lance just felt fuzzy and content and really drunk.

They ended up settling on the Madison Square Garden countdown (Beyonce was performing and you do NOT miss out on the Queen Bey), all sprawled loose-limbed on Allura's faux-leather U-shaped sofa. Man, people could really live if they were making bank. Based on the giggles from Allura and Pidge and the fond exasperation on Keith and Hunk's faces, he probably said that out loud. Lance's filter tended to peace the fuck out whenever he got smashed harder than acute pancreatitis--okay, that was a medical student joke that Lance didn't really have enough firing neurons to explain to anyone in the room who didn't get it. Keith facepalmed beside him, so Lance pulled him closer with the arm around his shoulders until Keith's face was comfortably slotted against his neck.

Finally, the countdown began--

10

Lance wasn't watching the screen anymore, he watched how enraptured Keith was in the numbers on it--

9

He thought about his family, and this upcoming year, and if Keith would come home with him like he said he would--

8

He imagined showing Keith his favourite spots on Varadero beach, the places he used to frequent in high school--

7

He remembered that Sunday of laser tag and eating leftovers on their crappy couch but feeling like the luckiest man alive--

6

His heart's rhythm faltered for a moment as the tip of Keith's pink tongue darted out to wet his lips--

5

He thought about the way Keith's voice would carry from the shower as he sang the songs Lance had written just for the two of them--

4

He thought about how cute and perky Keith's ponytail was and how much he wished he tied it up more often--

3

He thought about how much he loved the way Keith's hands were lost in the sweaters he stole out of Lance's closet--

2

He thought about Keith's sleepy face with the creases of the pillow on his cheek and his nest of bedhead--

1

He grabbed Keith's wrist and pulled him in, holding his cheeks in both hands like the Holy Grail and kissing him soundly. Keith brought his hands up to rest on Lance's chest, counting the heartbeats tapping against his palms.

"Happy New Year," he mumbled into the seam of Lance's lips.

"Jesus Christ, get a fucking room," Pidge yelled from the other end of the sofa.

\-----

Lance was _preeeetty_ drunk. So much so that he didn't really notice when Dr. Coran swung by Allura's apartment until the man was joining them in dancing to the "year in review top hits" Youtube playlist at full blast. His luscious auburn-red moustache loomed over him from one of Allura's pieces of furniture as the decorated physician broke it down like none of them had ever seen before. For an older guy, he really knew how to bust a move. Lance would've been embarrassed at his state of inebriation if his hemoglobin level was not currently lower than his blood alcohol level, but as it was, he just rolled his body against Keith's a little more seductively (okay, in his mind it was all sexy and shit but when he watched the video Pidge took on Hunk's phone a few days later, it was the sluttiest thing he'd ever seen. Basically the kind of salacious reckless abandon that came with obscene amounts of liquid courage) and mouthed at his boyfriend's neck. Keith must've also been a bit drunk to even let Lance do that with other people around, and Lance was feeling way too good to spare any thoughts to what he looked like to everyone else. It was all in good fun, and they probably wouldn't remember most of it tomorrow.

"Dude? Bro? Dude-bro? You gonna make it back to our place okay?" Hunk waved a hand in front of Lance's face.

"Hrm?"

"He's wasted," Shay giggled behind her hand. She was probably closer to the buzzed end of the spectrum of intoxication, but she could pass for "just tipsy" if she could keep the giggles to a minimum.

Keith had somehow sobered up real quick (or maybe Lance just had no grasp on the passage of time? Was it actually 4AM or were those beer-slash-liquor goggles playing mind tricks on him?) and essentially propped Lance upright as he wobbled. "Don't worry, Hunk, I'll make sure he gets home."

"You'd better," Pidge ribbed, laughing hysterically as Lance tried to pinpoint her location in the room but failed miserably. "That lush is officially your responsibility."

Keith diplomatically gave Pidge the finger as he slung Lance's arm over his shoulders. Lance wanted to be helpful and attempted to jump into Keith's arms to be carried like a bride across the threshold, but even though Keith sounded way more sober than Lance felt, his coordination was still not quite running on full throttle and they both careened into one of Allura's bar stools. Thankfully, it was bolted into the ground (who would want to steal a bar stool? Perish the thought--there were only two of them, it would be heartbreaking for only one to remain all lonely and sad and too stylishly retro to find its matching pair-mate at any IKEA or Home Outfitters or Bowring or Pier thingy with a number...), so Keith was able to catch the two of them before they had an intimate meeting with the floor.

"Ow." Keith groaned, set Lance's feet under him, and rubbed at where the edge of the bar stool clipped his ribs. That'd probably be a nice black-and-blue tomorrow.

"Sorry babe," Lance slurred out, muscles still feeling loose and floppy. He poked Keith's forehead. "We're gonna hafta practice that."

Keith gave Lance his best 'I-am-beyond-done-with-you-right-now' face and tried to get him back to his feet.

"Shiro," he grunted, fighting to keep Lance from toppling over again, "are you planning on crashing here tonight?"

Shiro, at some point, had moved to help Keith get Lance into his shoes. "Yeah, and you guys are welcome to stay, too."

Aw, Shiro was the best. Lance liked him a lot. Shiro chuckled, patted Lance's head, and said, "Yeah, I like you a lot too, bud."

Allura was clearing away empty bottles and paper plates with Matt and Pidge. She looked over worriedly. "Really, Keith, it's alright if the two of you stay here as well. Pidge and Matt can share the guest room and you two can have the sofa."

Keith hoisted Lance up a bit to get a better grip around his waist.

"Thanks Allura, but really, it's okay. Shiro and I don't live too far from here, and the walk should sober him up a little."

Shiro pulled them both into a weird one-armed hug, and man the guy was fucking ripped. Lance wished he could get that deezed but there was just no time to hit the gym between the hospital and studying and classes and feeling like general shit and literally struggling to get out of bed.

"Damn, you are an emotionally labile drunk," Keith murmured as they made it out onto the sidewalk in the brisk night (or was it morning?) air. There was a sprinkling of snow flurries dancing in the golden cones of light from the streetlamps. Lance stuck his tongue out and let a few flakes melt on contact, enjoying the way they perched on his eyelashes like cold cottony kisses.

At least Keith was right about the sobering effects of the night air, since Lance was walking mostly independently by the time there were two blocks or so left on the way to the Koganes' apartment. When Lance had to hunch over some bushes to empty some of the alcohol sloshing in his stomach, he was secretly grateful that Keith forewent the cab back to Lance and Hunk's place. Cab cleaning fees were a bitch and three-quarters, and it seriously sucked when the cab driver gave you that disparaging look through the rearview mirror. Lance was also pretty sure that only the most despicable scum of the earth vomited in Ubers, because that was just rude.

Overall, Lance was proud that he only vomited once more before Keith ushered him into the little box flat that he shared with Shiro. By that time, Lance was more asleep than drunk, so Keith had to take his shoes off for him as he essentially dozed off standing up. He obediently rinsed his mouth out several times as Keith watched him like a hawk (what, was he worried Lance would drown himself with a mouthful of water?), and finally stumbled into Keith's room to faceplant in his boyfriend's bed, out like a light partway through his descent.

When he woke up, he had a pounding headache and the light filtering through the misaligned slats of Keith's blinds was extremely unwelcome. He groaned and tried to roll over, but Keith was adhered to him like a leech. When he raised his head slightly, he could see that Keith left him a cup of water and some Tylenol on a tray on the floor beside the bed (which, as previously mentioned, was really just a mattress on the floor. Lance could see that one of the secondary benefits to coming here instead of Lance's place was that Keith didn't have to wrestle Lance's flailing octopus limbs up and into Lance's bed). It was a nice gesture, but Keith was foiling his own cute boyfriending by latching to Lance like a strong (albeit very attractive) barnacle. Lance would have to try to bring the boyfriending to the next level to make up for this... he was gonna surprise the shit out of Keith with pancakes or something (once his skull was no longer determined to crack open and let the wrath of Satan hatch forth from where the devil himself was wreaking havoc on all the gray and white matter in there).

While the Tylenol sounded good, a toothbrush to get rid of the stale vomit taste in his mouth sounded even better. He wondered if the distance was worth it--he had to somehow extricate his limbs from the tangle of Keith's to even get to the bathroom in the first place, and then he had to somehow get himself out of the bed... oh, well, that was his bladder kindly reminding him that urination was a necessary bodily function as well, so he'd be up to the bathroom after all.

Clumsy was never a word Lance would use to describe himself, but he didn't get out from under Keith's sprawling, slumbering dead weight with the greatest of grace. He managed to avoid getting any elbows to the face, which was a win, but Keith grumbled the entire time, partially awake and frustratingly persistent in his efforts to keep Lance in the bed at any cost.

"Keith, come on, I have to pee," he sighed, trying again to relocate Keith's head from his chest to the pillow mere inches to the left. Keith said something garbled and unintelligible into Lance's shirt, his cheek smooshed against the fabric (which was slightly damp from drool and Lance did not want to think about how cute it was because it was supposed to be unattractive, dammit!). "Seriously, babe, my bladder is gonna burst or give me the worst case of hydronephrosis known to humankind."

Keith burrowed further into the spaces between Lance's limbs and his torso, snuggling up closer but also throwing more weight over Lance's midsection that just spelled trouble for the future dryness of his boyfriend's bedding. He said something that sounded suspiciously like, "You don't even have vesicoureteric reflux."

"Okay, that's it, Kogane. I need to get out of here before we revisit the worst case of enuresis you've ever seen, multiplied by... like, forty!"

Thankfully, Keith relented. He relinquished his grapple-hold reluctantly, and let his arms flop dejectedly to his sides as Lance hobbled off of the mattress and managed to accidentally kick away the Tylenol, narrowly avoiding a different wet mess as the cup wobbled after coming in contact with his big toe. He caught it just in time. Keith snuffled and his limbs fluidly pooled into all the freed space on the mattress--his boyfriend liquefied in his sleep, apparently.

Shaking his head (which was a huge mistake, ugh!), Lance wisely picked his battles and decided to deal with his urinary needs first, then address the case of the missing Tylenol. He heard it clatter somewhere in the corner of Keith's room, but wasn't really up to the task of retrieving it, so he'd just have to find out where Keith kept the bottle and get another.

Oddly, Keith didn't seem to be too perturbed by this since he was still stone-cold passed out. Shiro _had_ warned Lance that when Keith was overtired he slept like the dead, but normally he jolted awake at any sound or movement that tickled his consciousness--it was the reason Lance usually woke up alone, even when Keith spent the night. It was actually kind of nice to be able to admire the allure of Keith's peaceful sleeping features, mouth slack and face squished in complete relaxation. There was even a thin sheen of drool on Keith's lower lip, and Lance found it hopelessly endearing (his little patchwork heart floundered in his chest).

His bladder cried out for salvation. He ran for the bathroom.

After relieving himself (thank fucking God, that was close), Lance washed his hands and splashed water on his face. It felt sort of gritty and greasy since he didn't wash it last night, but it didn't look like Keith had an adequate face cleanser in the bathroom. As a matter of fact, Keith and Shiro seemed to be quite minimalist with the contents of their bathroom in general--Lance was actually appalled at Keith's lack of face moisturizer (like, did he not even have regular lotion?). He was itching to exfoliate, but of course, Keith had nothing even remotely resembling an apricot scrub. How did Keith keep his complexion so unfairly clear and smooth? His face, as Lance knew from firsthand experience, was soft like--well, like Lance's, even though his skin should've been dry as fuck. Ugh, the guy never had to work for anything that Lance had to slave away at for hours and hours just to accomplish, God dammit! He got to be effortlessly beautiful and blindingly gorgeous while Lance always had to try and try and keep failing to measure up. Well that was just the kind of thought spiraling he needed to feel like total shit, so the plan for the day was now to stay in bed for the entirety of the foreseeable future. It also exacerbated his hangover headache, so he opened the medicine cabinet behind the mirror.

Hm. Bandaids, rubbing alcohol, Polysporin. Some gauze, a small first aid kit presumably containing more bandaids and shit, and a bottle of calamine lotion. There was some disinfectant liquid stuff in there too, nothing exciting. In the bottom left corner, he found a few bottles of pills--antacids, some Gravol, and a bunch of orange prescription bottles that Lance clumsily (still, it was the hangover; Lance was normally the picture of poise) knocked off the small shelf with a few colourful curses. Luckily, none of them popped open and the pills just rattled angrily inside.

Lance couldn't help but take a quick look at the labels as he stocked them back in the medicine cabinet. Four of the bottles were for Shiro--venlafaxine, quetiapine, Prazosin, and Ativan... for his PTSD and depression, most likely. He frowned. Keith and Allura had talked Shiro's nightmares and flashbacks a few times, but Lance had made a valiant effort not to listen in on those conversations. Overall, he thought that Shiro was doing pretty well. He also replaced the puffers he'd knocked over, also for Shiro. He felt a twinge of residual guilt as he remembered the incident in the cafe when he let his petty insecurities dominate his rational judgment and ended up aggressively revenge-flirting with Allura, thinking Keith was dating her behind his back.

There was one more orange bottle, and Lance didn't actually mean to read the label on it. He figured it'd also be for Shiro, and he'd been nosy enough. His attention snagged on a different name, however.

 

_Keith Kogane_

_Levetiracetam 1500mg tablets_

_Take one (1) tablet in the morning and one (1) tablet at bedtime_

_Refills: 3_

 

Levetiracetam? Lance's brow furrowed. Why would Keith be taking medication? If he recalled correctly, this was an antiepileptic drug. Keith never mentioned anything about having epilepsy, and he'd never had a seizure in all the time Lance had known him. Of course, that probably just meant that Keith was being good about taking the meds and they were working, but still...

A heavy feeling crushed Lance's abdominal viscera. Keith had more secrets, more things he didn't share with Lance. How much did he really know about his boyfriend?

His headache only intensified with his crappy mood, so Lance put the pill bottle back with the others. On the same shelf he found Advil and Tylenol and some migraine meds (also for Keith, but at least those weren't a surprise). He popped two Tylenol capsules in his mouth and swallowed them dry.

He returned to the bed with every intention of waking Keith up and demanding an explanation, but Keith was sitting up, rubbing at his eyes, and blinking at him sleepily. The covers were a tangled mess in Keith's lap, blankets twined around smooth, bare thighs. He was just so fucking adorable and angelic-looking that Lance couldn't stay mad. The explanation could wait. Keith tilted his head up and squinted at Lance through the light spilling in through the open door behind him.

"You coming back to bed or what?" he rasped, voice scratchy from disuse (and probably from all the alcohol last night). Lance complied--if only Keith wasn't such a closet sap, despicably cuddly and adorable (but endlessly fucking _salty_ about it, especially when Lance pointed it out). He had to admit that his heart felt pretty full knowing that Keith had missed him even in the short absence of his washroom adventure.

They settled back into a comfortable position with Keith curled up in Lance's arms, his hands under Lance's shirt and drawing nonsensical patterns between his scars. It was weirdly soothing. Lance was just about to doze off when Keith shot upright, nearly cracking his skull against Lance's chin in the process, and made a mad dash out the door.

Lance was stunned motionless until the telltale cacophony of retching echoed from the next room over. He grimaced as he heard Keith attempt to perform an autosplenectomy by the sheer vicious force of his dry-heaving. The violence of the sound was enough to make him a little queasy, too. What, was the poor guy's body trying to dredge up a long-lost kidney or something?

Sighing, he turned toward the door after the toilet flushed and the sink was turned on and off again.

"You okay, babe?" he asked as Keith plopped back onto the mattress, limbs akimbo and giant shirt askew. The pallor of his face was prominent in the natural light illuminating the room from the windows in the living area.

"Yeah," Keith croaked, eyes closed but looking more uncomfortable than asleep. "Sorry I nearly broke your jaw with my head."

"You do have a hard head," Lance conceded. Keith snorted.

They lapsed into a strange impasse, both waiting for the other to say something first. Finally, Lance broke the silence.

"So... you uh, have a lot of stuff in your medicine cabinet."

"Huh?"

Lance swallowed purposefully. He could do this.

"You know, I thought most people kept skeletons in their closets, not behind their bathroom mirrors."

Keith rolled over and propped himself up on his elbows. His hair flopped adorably over to one side, but Lance would _not_ let himself get distracted from his self-appointed mission.

"What are you talking about?"

"What are you taking Keppra for?" Lance asked bluntly.

Keith's eyes narrowed. "Why were you rooting through all of my stuff?" he countered defensively. Lance could sense his own proverbial hackles rising.

"I was looking for your Tylenol, but found a buttload of secrets you're keeping from me."

Keith scowled, but now looked fully awake, if a little green around the gills.

"I had a seizure."

Lance raised an eyebrow. "I would assume that you would take anti-convulsant medications for seizures, yes."

Keith drew back, pulling his legs under him and rocking onto his heels.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you, okay?" he said, having the good grace to look contrite. He ran an agitated hand through his hair. Damn, even distressed he was pretty, and Lance had half a mind to just tell him all was forgiven and sprinkle kisses everywhere possible on his face. No--he had to maintain a strong stance on this. Relationships were built on mutual honesty and trust and not secrets and lies!

"I had a seizure while I was on call, and it wasn't my first, so I was prescribed the meds to try to get them under control. Went back to the wards, tried to pretend nothing happened, but then I had another one at the hospital and went into status epilepticus. They upped the dose and told me to take some time off school while they titrated it up to where it needed to be. I didn't want anyone to know, and I just..." he let out a long, anguished sigh. "Then I dropped out. I couldn't deal with it."

Lance wondered if the cogs in his head were churning loud enough for Keith to hear them. "So... you dropped out of medical school because you were having seizures?"

Keith looked like he wanted to protest, or argue, or give some sort of rebuttal, but he eventually just stared down at his hands in his lap. "I didn't want to have another seizure while I was on the wards."

"It sounds a lot like you just gave up," Lance muttered. Suddenly he was seething, and he lost control over what came out of his mouth. "So you were ashamed you had a seizure in front of people and you decided you were just gonna drop everything and quit? Just like that?"

Keith looked up, features wrestling between anger and alarm.

"I put people at risk, Lance! I couldn't take care of people if I was wasting everyone's time with my stupid seizures!"

Lance chuckled, but it was an empty, humourless sound.

"So every time I passed out at work because of my heart was a _waste of everyone's time_ , huh?"

Keith looked like Lance had punched him in the gut. "No! Lance, no, of course not!"

"Then why would you quit, Keith?" Lance was shouting and his heart rate was escalating. He couldn't feel his face but he wasn't sure if that was from poor perfusion or rage. "You were gonna be the best! You were the best. I could never measure up. Even if I thought we were rivals, you were always out of my fucking league!"

He had stood up at some point, and Keith was scrambling to his feet so they could meet eye-to-eye. Lance watched detachedly as Keith shivered slightly, incredibly exposed in just his boxers and big crewneck sliding off one shoulder.

"'Lance and Keith, neck and neck'," he mocked, eyes glazing over with self-deprecating tears. "God, I'm such a joke. How am I supposed to be a doctor if I couldn't even keep up with a dropout like you?"

Keith, who had been approaching carefully, recoiled at the venom in Lance's words. Hurt flashed across his face before his expression went carefully blank.

"I think you should go," he said, tone calculated and flat.

Lance sneered, "Yeah, I think I will." He dressed and was out of the apartment in a flash, the door slamming behind him.

The icy gust of wind that slapped him in the face upon exiting the building had an instant sobering effect. The livid rage roiling in his gut like magma solidified immediately into a hulking, lead-like weight that sank to the soles of his feet.

He dropped down to sit on the stairs and held his head in his hands, ignoring the people navigating around him to get in and out of the apartment complex.

Christ, what had he just _done_? Keith had actually given him an explanation for the pills, and for dropping out, and all without too much of a fuss. Lance _knew_ how hard it was for Keith to open up like that, and he still went ahead and pried for information that he really had no right to demand. Then he went and turned it around, made it about himself and his problems... He felt like a failure as a boyfriend and as a decent human being.

After God knows how long, he finally picked himself up and trudged in the general direction of his own apartment. If he was going to wallow in self-pity and sadness for the next couple of days, he should at least do it out of sight so he wouldn't be a blemish on society.

He didn't know how long it took him to get there, but everything was basically frozen numb. He fumbled with his keys for a full five minutes before Hunk put him out of his misery, bless his soul.

"Hey buddy, what's--" whatever cheerful greeting Hunk had for him died at the look on Lance's face. "Whoa, Lance, what's wrong?"

Lance just pitched forward and let Hunk catch him as he circled his best friend's middle with his lanky upper extremities.

"I'm a fucking terrible human being," he mumbled into Hunk's belly. Hunk patted him comfortingly on the head and pulled him up into a secure hug.

"You are not, my man, I assure you," Hunk said, taking a few steps into the apartment and closing the door behind them. Lance truly did not deserve such a pure, wonderful person.

Hunk deposited him on the couch and went off to bring him some piping hot homemade soup and a mug of tea. He was a literal angel with magic powers. How would he have even known to have soup, much less keep it hot? Lance accepted the doting gratefully, letting the heat from his mug defrost his hands.

"So tell me, what's got you so bummed out?"

Lance's face screwed up for a moment, trying to hold it all in--but, like a dam against an unstoppable current, he cracked and spilled the entire story until Hunk was mopping his tears off his face with the second box of Kleenex.

"I'm a horrible, shitty person," he finished with a sniffle and a hiccup.

Hunk dabbed at the tears still running in rivulets down Lance's cheeks. At some point, he'd migrated to the spot beside Lance on the couch and Lance rested his forehead on Hunk's shoulder. Hunk wound an arm around Lance's skinny (but still broad and manly!) shoulders.

"It sounds like you had a really rough day, bud," Hunk said gently. Lance couldn't help but smile bitterly at the fact that Hunk didn't deny his horribleness. "Finish your soup then let's get you ready for bed, okay? You'll feel better after you get some rest."

Last time Lance had checked, it was still the middle of the afternoon. He was mildly shocked that somehow time had passed him by and it was already late into the evening. How long had he been sitting here pouring his unwanted feelings out to Hunk?

"Sorry," he squeaked out (his throat was a wreck from all the crying and talking and stuff, okay? So sue him). Hunk gave him a soft smile, shaking his head and squeezing Lance's shoulder in the incredible reassuring way only he would be able to accomplish.

"Don't apologize for feeling what you feel, man." Shay was a lucky, lucky girl. If only Lance's life had turned out a little differently... he really hoped that he and Hunk would have some sort of bromantic happily-ever-after that didn't involve heartache and heartbreak and stupid secrets hiding in mullets.

"Why can't anything ever be easy? Where is my smooth sailing, Hunk?" he murmured miserably as Hunk shushed him and tucked him into his bed. When had that happened? Lance had no grasp on the passage of pretty much anything today.

"The course of true love, buddy," Hunk said, tone wistful. What kind of whimsical bullshit...? But Hunk was a giant romantic softie and Lance couldn't begrudge him his mushiness. "It never did run smooth."

"Oh my God, is Shakespeare really necessary right now?"

Hunk chuckled and petted Lance's hair indulgently. It was the only part of him that peered out from his swath of blankets anyway.

"Good night, Lance."

Lance sniffed. "Night, Hunk."

Hunk stood up and went to turn off Lance's light.

"True love, huh?" he called out. Hunk turned back, silhouetted in the light from their living room.

"It wouldn't hurt so much if it wasn't."

Damn him, that was a really good point.

\-----

January 2

**To: Mullet**

_i'm sorry_

 

January 2

**To: Mullet**

_it wasnt any of my bees_

_*business_

_nd i had no right to snoop thru ur stuff_

 

January 2

**To: Mullet**

_we only have a few days of break left_

_can we make up so we dont waste it? pls?_

_keeeeeeeeith_

_:'(_

 

January 2

**To: Mullet**

_keef??_

_< /3_

\-----

Shiro kind of always had an empty look about him, like everything had pretty much hollowed him out and he was 1000% done with the world. He perpetually needed a nap, but otherwise was one of the nicest, mellowest people Lance had ever encountered. Even Hunk got rattled more than Shiro, and Hunk was basically a Care Bear in human form, complete with shitting rainbows and farting happiness (okay, no, actually, Hunk's farts could be fucking toxic and deadly but apart from his explosive gastrointestinal system he was golden).

Hence, Lance was caught completely off guard by Shiro approaching him with _zero_ chill as soon as he walked into the Castle Cafe on the first Tuesday of the year.

"Lance, I know Keith is far from perfect, but he has been sulking and moping since New Year's and I think you have a _lot_ of explaining to do," Shiro warned, tone razor-sharp and military precise. Yikes, this was probably the protective older brother talk that Lance had been dreading that he really hoped wasn't gonna happen because Shiro was such a cool guy.

"Uh, I'm not sure I see why it's unusual for your brother to be a sullen asshole," Lance said automatically, wincing as soon as the words registered in his brain. Urgh, he definitely shouldn't have defaulted to snark. He cursed his incorrigible mouth and tried to arrange his features into something that dripped repentance. Shiro didn't seem to buy it--he was actually scowling, and wow, if Lance couldn't see the family resemblance before, he could definitely tell that this expression ran in the Kogane family genetics.

"You deliberately ignored what I had to say last year," Shiro began, running an aggravated hand through his hair. Lance spared a second to wonder how none of the joints of the prosthetic snagged on the strands. "I told you he really didn't need a romantic relationship on his plate, but you chose to pursue that anyway. And honestly? I was pissed off. But Allura told me to let Keith make his own decisions, and it made sense, but I never wanted him to get hurt."

He sighed, then fixed Lance with a look that made Lance's soul wither. "You know, I really thought I was wrong and you would be good for him, but he's more of a mess now than ever and you're the reason for that."

Wow, okay, that was spirit-crushing. Lance hoped he didn't look as devastated by the older man's words as he felt.

"I'm sorry," he squeaked out, feeling painfully inadequate in every way.

Shiro let out a heavy breath and turned to meet Lance's eyes. It was terrifying.

"You should be," Shiro said plaintively. Ow, Lance's battered morale could only take so much. "But I think he really needs you, now more than ever, as much as he and I both loathe to admit it."

Lance's brows furrowed in concern.

"What do you mean?"

Shiro cleared his throat and adjusted his flawless apron around his waist. "I mean, right now he's pushing you away because he's scared, but he really does need you."

The elder Kogane stalked away, and Lance was left to mull that over as he tuned his guitar in preparation for his set. It had been a while since he had played at the Castle Cafe, and it was Dr. Luxia's suggestion that he include returning to play as one of his goals. Even with his worry for Keith making it hard to focus, it felt good to lose himself to his music again.

At the end of the night, he thumbed the ever-present list in his pocket, and mentally added, _Figure out what the fuck is up with Keith and fix it_.

\-----

"Alright, I've compiled the data from the chart reviews and I can input the numbers into the statistics software over the weekend."

Dr. Alfor smiled kindly from across his intimidating cherry wood desk.

"Excellent! You've been doing a fantastic job so far, Lance, I'm very impressed. There are a few more charts for you to review before we should be ready to start writing an article for publication."

Wow, this was all happening so fast. Lance wasn't sure if he could keep up.

Dr. Alfor stroked his goatee and handed Lance a new list of chart numbers.

"For ethics and confidentiality reasons, I've marked a few charts under my patient list that you cannot review." He tapped one of the names as an example.

_Takashi Kogane_

Lance swallowed thickly. He still hadn't been able to get Keith to talk to him after their disastrous post-New Year fight, but he also hadn't been trying as hard has he should have.

"Thank you, Dr. Alfor. Have a good weekend."

Lance stood to leave, shuffling a few papers around before shoving them into his bag.

Dr. Alfor chuckled. "You too, Lance. Don't forget to relax and have some fun, yes?"

Sure, fun... If trying to talk to your justifiably irritable boyfriend to avoid being eviscerated by his protective older brother was fun, Lance was gonna have _lots_ of fun this weekend.

\-----

"He's just been sort of sulky and moody," Pidge finally replied to Lance's original prodding about Keith after subjecting him to a full rundown of her event coming up in a few short days. "And really tired. I know you've been doing a lot better with regards to the hibernating tendencies" (Pidge didn't really put anything delicately, did she?) "so it's like you two swapped and now he's the one who wants to sleep all the time. If he was one of the Seven Dwarves, he'd be Drowsy for the past two weeks." She paused. "Is Drowsy even one of those dwarf dudes? Okay, so if he was a Pokemon, he'd be Drowzee. I _know_ that one exists."

She shifted her glasses a little further up her nose, the top of her tongue peeking out between her lips as she concentrated on getting a piece of what kinda looked like shrapnel to stay balanced on top of a bunch of other pieces of junky metal while Lance held it perpendicular to the ground. It was her latest mannequin-sculpture thing, looking a lot like a robot warrior thing with a big-ass sword.

Once the sword was fastened in the robot guy's grip, she sucked in a sharp breath. "He's also been having more dizzy spells, I think they upped his meds again."

(Lance had explained the whole ordeal that transpired between him and Keith, and he was sure that Keith had done the same. As it stood, both Pidge and Hunk were trying to keep a neutral No Man's Land between the two of them, and Pidge was especially careful to only talk about stuff she knew Lance was already aware of.)

Lance frowned. Dizziness and drowsiness were the first side effects that came up when he did some reading about levetiracetam (Keppra by brand name). Why would Keith's dose need to be increased? The worry gnawing at his guts coiled even tighter as if determined to twist itself into a volvulus.

"But... is he okay?"

Pidge let her hands drop from her masterpiece. She peered at Lance over the robot guy's shoulder.

"Do you want an honest answer or do you want me to try to make you feel better?"

"Oh, well when you say that, that's never good." Lance ran a hand down his face, bracing himself. "Honest answer, please."

Pidge closed her eyes for a brief moment. "No, he's not. You really need to talk to him, Lance."

The dread shredded his insides.

"Uh, yeah," he said dumbly, because what else was he supposed to do? Clearly his boyfriend was falling apart and he needed to do something but there was nothing he could do to help.

\-----

On the night of Pidge's event, Lance was still trying to muster the balls to finally call Keith, gather enough wits about him that he could confront his own boyfriend about just what the hell was going on with him.

He was not expecting Keith's name to light up on his phone's display as it rang shrilly in the silence of his bedroom at 11PM on a weeknight, effectively shattering the illusion of sleep he was chasing.

"Hello?" he croaked tentatively into the receiver.

"Lance? Lance, oh my God," Keith's voice came out as a frantic whisper, something screeching and blaring in the background and almost drowning his voice out altogether. It was a horrible assault to Lance's tympanic membranes as well as his heart rate, which skyrocketed with alarm. He was sitting bolt upright in bed immediately.

Keith had dissolved into some incoherent babbling, so Lance cradled the phone closer to his ear even though the background noise was a few decibels shy of deafening.

"Hey, Keith, baby," he cooed, going for soothing but probably missing the mark judging by the way his hands were shaking around his cell, "sweetheart, take a deep breath, then tell me what's going on. Please, babe, breathe for me."

He heard Keith take a few desperate sobbing gasps for air, which wheezed out of him painfully.

"Pidge, she--oh my God, Lance, it's all my fault, I should've--" he choked again, and Lance's heart beat furiously behind his sternum. Lance's entire face was numb. He felt like he was going to throw up.

"Keith? Keith, what happened to Pidge?" his voice was steadily rising in pitch, no matter how hard he fought to keep his tone level. He scrambled out of his bed and shrugged a jacket over his pyjamas, nevermind the fact that it was still January in Altea. He forewent socks and just stuffed his feet into his boots, fumbling with his key to lock the door on his way out. Hunk had spent the night at Shay's, and as soon as he figured out where he was headed he was gonna call them.

"She's... Lance, they won't let me take the ambulance with her. Matt's going to meet them at the hospital."

Lance's blood froze over in his veins. "I'm coming to get you, baby, just tell me where you are."

It took a little coaxing to get Keith calm enough to relay a location, and it was a miracle that Lance didn't get into an accident on the way there. He was definitely not driving according to legal speed limits.

He had barely thrown his beloved car into park before he was bounding out of the driver's seat, not even registering the blistering cold through the thin flannel of his pyjama pants. There were siren lights _everywhere_ , and he needed to find Keith in the mess of ambulances and cop cars.

"Keith?" he bellowed over the cacophony around them. "Keith, where are you?"

"Lance?"

He whipped around toward the voice, achingly familiar in a way that meant he hadn't heard it in way too long. He started running, fading vision be damned.

"Keith? Keith, I'm here for you!"

It was like time slowed down--there Keith was under a spotlight from a street lamp, face white as a ghost and shaking like a leaf. Lance bounded toward him and didn't think twice before wrapping him in his arms, breathing harshly in clouds against Keith's neck. Keith clung to him as a drowning man sucked in his first breath of air, sobbing so hard the only thing Lance could make out was his boyfriend repeating his name over and over like an answered prayer. They sank down onto the asphalt, both trembling and desperately trying to hold each other in one piece.

"Hey, shh, honey, I've got you."

"Please, please," Keith was mumbling, "I have to see her, please!"

"Okay, baby, we're gonna go right now. Can you stand for me?"

Keith teetered dangerously but was otherwise successful. He followed without protest as Lance ushered him to the car. They piled in and Lance only remebered to call Hunk when they touched down into the hospital.

Once Lance hung up and Hunk and Shay were on their way, he followed where he saw Keith disappear around the corner and was met with utter devastation on Matt Holt's face. Shiro had folded Keith into the kind of embrace that was partially a hug and partially shielding his little brother from the rest of the world, at least for a short, borrowed time. Allura had her hand on Shiro's shoulder, eyes shiny with tears.

"What happened?" he asked hesitantly, mind involuntarily replaying snatches of his patient's family signing away their wife/daughter/mother/sister's organs as he took in the stony weight in the room.

Allura broke away from the Koganes and pulled Lance into a hug.

"Pidge was the victim of a hate crime," Allura said against his shoulder, her voice broken and choked up. She took a shuddering breath. "She was walking with Keith toward the bus after the event, but went back because she forgot something. They caught her in the loading area behind the building, and when Keith wondered why she was taking so long," Allura had to pause to compose herself, "he found her there with the perpetrators running off."

"I almost went after them instead of... God, I just... she was... but I had to call the ambulance, and they got away," Keith muttered in snippets into Shiro's shirt.

Matt still had the glazed-over look that Lance saw on the faces of so many of his patients' family members as they struggled to process everything that hadn't even sunk in yet. He dazedly placed a hand on Keith's shoulder, which made the younger male jolt at the contact.

"You did the right thing, Keith. I think you saved her life. You called the ambulance right away, you tried to do everything you could at the scene. It was probably just supposed to be hateful vandalism from stupid bigoted kids, and Katie was in the wrong place at the wrong time." He said everything with the eerie calm that usually preceded a complete shut down.

"Matt," Shiro murmured, then lifted his head from Keith's crown, "I think you should sit, man."

Matt's face was completely bloodless, and he was swaying slightly on his feet. He nodded slowly, and let Lance and Allura guide him into one of the hard plastic waiting room chairs. He let his head fall into his hands and was completely despondent by the time Hunk and Shay arrived, both wild-eyed with worry.

Eventually, after Lance had essentially paced a hole into the hospital tile, a scrub-clad man came into the waiting area. He looked exhausted and his features were pinched with professionally attenuated sadness.

"Are you all here for Miss Holt?"

Matt finally looked up from the spot on the floor he'd been staring at for over five hours.

"Yeah, we're her family," he said, not missing a beat.

The trauma surgeon cleared his throat. It felt like the blade of a guillotine rising in the brief silence that followed.

"Miss Holt is stable right now," he said solemnly, trapping the collective breaths of relief in their chest cavities. "Her kidneys were both severely damaged, but we were able to stop the bleeding. She is going to need dialysis until a suitable kidney donor is found for her, which would be the best possible option in the long run."

Lance heard everything the surgeon said, but nothing was really sticking to the grooves and folds of his brain at that moment. They were all silent until Matt finally coughed out, "She's alive?"

The surgeon zeroed in on Matt, the tight fists quaking at his sides and the fearful hope scrawled across his face.

"Yes, sir, she is alive, and she is quite the fighter."

Implications be damned, that was all they needed to hear at that moment. They could deal with the long-term sequelae and consequences later--for now, Pidge was okay. Matt actually lunged forward and pulled the surgeon into a hug.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you so much, oh my God." The surgeon looked distinctly uncomfortable to have a still-uniformed police officer (before calling Lance but after calling the EMS, Keith had called Shiro, who called Matt while the other was at work) fling his arms around him in the middle of the surgical waiting area.

"When can we see her?" Keith asked quietly, Shiro standing behind him like a shadow.

The surgeon took a slight step back when Matt finally released him.

"She should be transferred into the post-anaesthesia care unit by now, so you may see her in about twenty minutes. She will likely not wake up until tomorrow, but the anesthesiologist will speak to you there to discuss the details. You may go in two by two."

He nodded at them all and bowed out. It was probably the longest twenty minutes of Lance's entire life, discounting the previous six hours.

\-----

While Hunk and Shay were in to see Pidge, Lance sat next to Keith in the designated seating area outside the PACU. Shiro and Allura had taken Matt down to the hospital cafeteria to get him a coffee.

"Hey, Keith," Lance finally broke the silence. Keith looked up at him with an unreadable expression. Lance swallowed thickly but soldiered on. "I'm... I'm really proud of you for what you did tonight. You saved Pidge--the anesthesiologist said if you hadn't called for help immediately and protected her airway until the ambulance arrived, she would've died on that table." The words seemed to just be washing over Keith but not soaking in.

Lance gingerly shifted to face him more fully and gently cupped his cheeks in his hands, physically pulling those violet eyes he loved so much up to meet his own.

"I'm also so, so glad that you're not hurt, sweetheart." His voice cracked on the last syllable and that snapped Keith out of his trance-like state.

"I wish I'd just gone with her," Keith breathed, a tear finally escaping the corner of his eye. Lance wiped it away gently with the pad of his thumb.

"Baby, you have no idea how things might've gone. You could've been hurt, too, and then no one would've been able to call for help."

Keith let Lance pull him closer until he was halfway into the taller boy's lap with his head tucked under Lance's chin and his hands fisted in Lance's shirt, crushing the soft material between his fingers.

"I love you," he muttered into Keith's hair, pressing kiss after kiss against the top of his head. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Keith whispered parallel to Lance's clavicle.

They sat wrapped up in each other for what felt like ages, until Shiro carefully shook them awake so they could go home to shower, eat something, and hopefully see Pidge awake that afternoon.

\-----

Once Pidge had woken up it was like everything that had halted in their lives was suddenly un-paused. They had to return to their regular daily activities, but came to visit as often as possible. She was a bit disoriented at first (loaded up on the good stuff for pain post-operatively) but quickly resumed her usual mission of maximal snark in minimal time.

"Jesus, do you guys have to make kissy faces at each other here?" Pidge imitated gagging noises. "Seriously, stop visiting me together, you need an assigned buddy system if I am going to tolerate your presence."

Keith rolled his eyes at her. "Sit up and eat your lunch."

They had brought some homemade tomato soup with a delectable grilled cheese sandwich (all courtesy of Hunk) which was cutely packed in a neat little picnic basket (courtesy of Shay). Lance polished off his sandwich in fewer bites than Keith approved of, if the horrified look on his face was anything to go by. Hey, Hunk made the bread from scratch and combined the perfect blend of five different cheeses, even taking the time to make a cheese crust on the _outside_ of each sandwich to produce the ultimate crunchy-crispy-gooey-melty grilled cheese heaven. Lance was not one to delay enlightenment.

Keith and Pidge ate at a slower (and probably a bit more civilized) pace, and all it served to do was make Lance jealous that they still had food. He shamelessly stole a huge bite of Keith's sandwich as his boyfriend paused to chew, earning a dark scowl from said boyfriend. Meh, all's fair in love and war and food and stuff.

When their food was as finished as Lance's had been fifteen minutes ago, Keith packed away the thermoses and spoons while Lanced cleared up the napkins. Pidge let out a satisfied sigh, patting her stomach appreciatively as she reclined into her pillows. She was still in a fair bit of pain and now had to suffer through hemodialysis three to four times a week, but Hunk was already doing wonders with her special renal failure diet.

Matt had immediately volunteered to donate one of his kidneys, but on review of his time in the army he had suffered from a bad wound infection that made him quite ill. Fortunately, he'd made a full recovery with only the massive scar on his thigh to show for it, but unfortunately that ruled him out as an eligible kidney donor. Lance was similarly ineligible due to his past episodes of infective endocarditis and already perilous status as an operative candidate due to his poor heart function, and Hunk was ruled out for respiratory risk. Shiro had taken too many experimental medications in order to optimize his system for his prosthetic arm.

Keith hadn't batted an eyelash--he really wanted Pidge to have one of his kidneys. There were a ton of reviews of his medical records, and he had to go in for quite a few appointments, but soon the arrangements were made and a date was set. In a few months, Pidge would be off dialysis and returning to her normal life.

Things were kind of strained between Keith and the Holts--he wouldn't stop blaming himself for what happened to Pidge despite both Holt siblings assuring him that he was the reason she was walking away from that night. Then Pidge had a row with Keith over the kidney--she didn't want him making the decision out of misplaced guilt or a twisted way of making amends that he didn't have to make, and Keith was all sorts of offended that Pidge would imply that he wouldn't have offered her his kidney in any other situation, which he absolutely would have. Overall, it was kind of a mess, but at the core of it they were family and after the yelling and screaming subsided they were stripped raw and bare and all that was left was love and a loyalty and dedication so fierce it brought things back to some semblance of normal.

"We'll be back tomorrow morning with your breakfast," Lance said, blowing Pidge a kiss from the doorway. She mimed snatching it out of the air and tossing it in the general direction of the garbage can, so Lance feigned a wounded expression. Keith gave her a one-armed hug with the arm not occupied by the picnic basket, which she returned with minimal movement to avoid jostling all her sutures.

"I have a few more shows on my list of stuff to bingewatch on Netflix, so I won't be too bored," she quipped. (It was a lie. She was already so bored she would be climbing the walls if she could. Geniuses were not meant to be cooped up for days on end.)

"See you tomorrow, Pidget," Lance said at the same time that Keith waved goodbye while pushing him out the door.

Keith gave Lance his keys to get dinner started while Keith was at his gift shop shift (he'd already gotten Pidge all of the most obnoxious foil balloons available). By some improbable stroke of luck, Keith had finished his shift early so he could poke his head in to say goodnight to Pidge before heading home.

He opened the door to his apartment to be greeted with the smell of chicken roasting in the oven and the sound of Lance singing along to some top-40's song on the radio (using a whisk as a microphone, which certainly did NOT belong to the Kogane household) while sliding around the tiny kitchen in his socked feet.

Keith laughed and Lance snapped to attention. "Oh, hey, baby, welcome home."

That was how they found themselves slowdancing like fools to some song on the radio, Keith standing on Lance's feet because his own were bare and the kitchen tile was damn cold in February. Lance laughed and littered kisses in Keith's hair. They hummed into each other's necks as they swayed with the music, oblivious to their dinner (and all of Lance's hard work and toil) burning in the oven.

It was a good thing Keith remembered all the fire safety training they did at the beginning of medical school, and that Shiro was crashing at Allura's after his paramedicine training that night.

Lance ended up ordering a pizza, which they ate straight out of the box. ("Oh my God, I still can't believe you eat pineapple on your damn pizza." "Shut up, this is why we get half and half." "Well, fuck you mullet, your pineapple bullshit is encroaching on my sensible pizza territory." "Just pick it off, you big baby! I'll eat it!" "No, my pizza will still be weird and sweet because it's contaminated with blasphemous fruit!" " _Peppers and tomatoes are fruit_ , Lance!" "They're not the kind of fruit that count as fruit!" "How can you be best friends with Hunk and not like Hawaiian pizza?" "He's Samoan, you dick!" "That's not what I meant, asshat! He _always_ gets pineapple on his pizza!")

For a night, Lance was happy. It didn't matter that there was a blackened lump of charcoal sitting in a pan on Keith's kitchen counter, or that the smoke alarm was dismantled on the kitchen table, or even that there may have been a stray piece of pineapple that made it into his mouth on his last slice of pizza; Keith was laughing with him, pressed up against his side, and Lance was happy.

\-----

"Lance, I'm so proud of you! You have made some incredible accomplishments--you reached all ten goals, and you've really made leaps and bounds in terms of your mood and motivation."

"Thanks, Dr. Luxia." Lance tried to sound convinced. There was still number eleven on that list that he hadn't talked to anyone about, and he was hoping to discuss that today but just the feeling of the well-worn paper in his pocket made the nerves go haywire in his belly.

Dr. Luxia scooted her seat a bit closer to where Lance was perched on the now-familiar sofa. She leaned forward to put her hand on his shoulder. "Really, if you want, it would be totally fine with me if you feel like we've completed our time together. But you're always welcome if you ever want to talk."

Lance fiddled with his hands in his lap. "Um, actually, I do have one more thing I wanted to talk about, if we still have time?"

Dr. Luxia sat back a bit and gestured for him to continue with that open 'I'm listening' expression that made Lance like her in the first place.

"I uh... so things are going really, really well with Keith right now."

"Why do you sound so upset by that?"

"Well, we kind of... I mean, we had a fight after New Year's, and then things happened, and now things are good but we never _talk_ -talked about everything, and I mean, you know we have issues with communication, right? So I... I want to talk to him about it, but I'm scared. It was a pretty big fight, and I just..."

He sighed and rested his forearms on his knees, letting his head hang forward.

"You just don't wanna rock the boat while it's been smooth sailing for the last little while?"

He nodded miserably. "What if I fu--uh, screw things up? Keith's basically the hottest of hotheads, but when we had that fight, he went ice cold and I don't... I don't wanna lose him."

Dr. Luxia did that thing where her eyes went soft and she reminded him of his mother. He brushed off the pang of homesickness to deal with later.

"Well, I know this is hard, Lance, but either you need to bring it up or you wait until Keith does. You do need to talk about this, clearly it's putting you under a lot of stress."

She gave him a pat on the knee. "What are you thinking of doing from here?"

A week later, Lance had opted for living in ignorant bliss. A small part of him was disappointed himself for avoiding the issue, but the other part of him was too relieved that they hadn't had any altercation.

Case in point: Keith was comfortably tucked into his side on the small loveseat in the Koganes' as they watched reruns of _Scrubs_. While it had been proverbial "smooth sailing" for the last month or so, there was a sinister undercurrent threatening a brewing catastrophe and Lance couldn't shake the compulsion to check over his shoulder in case of storm clouds approaching overhead.

"Hey, Keith?" he murmured into Keith's temple, his arm slung around the back of the sofa and the mop of black hair cushioned on his shoulder.

"Mm?" came the sleepy response. They'd just gotten back from visiting Pidge at the Holts' place, where she mostly chattered with them as she caught up on all the coursework she missed while in the hospital. Keith's hectic schedule left only a few gaps that they used to spend together, but now was mostly spent watching Pidge frantically plowing through work or sitting with her during dialysis appointments.

It was understandable that Keith had been sleeping a lot--he dozed off every time they got in the car, and as soon as they sat anywhere that wasn't the dining table. He even nodded off sometimes sitting next to Pidge, who kept talking at him anyway because she knew it comforted him and it's not like he really understood all her techie gibberish even while awake. He was a drowsy mess when he got up, and his migraines were more frequent than ever, which meant he was puking whenever he wasn't being an admittedly adorable cross between an octopus and a human-sized pillow trying his very best to overheat Lance in his sleep.

He wanted to breach the subject of their fight, but he was also really enjoying the physical affection from his otherwise touch-starved boyfriend lately... and he was scared shitless.

"I uh... so..."

Keith blinked up at him, the warm weight of his head shifting. "What?"

Lance chickened out and cursed himself internally. "Nothing. I just... I love you, _cariño_."

Keith's lips spread into a slow, sweet smile. "I love you too." He settled in a little closer against Lance, who curled his arm around his back, counting the knobs of Keith's spine under his palm.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, watching J.D. and Turk get up to illegal and probably very dangerous shenanigans in the Sacred Heart Hospital while Lance's inner voice (that sounded a lot like his mother but with mostly Pidge-like mannerisms, especially her penchant for profanity) kept hissing, 'Coward'.

He gently fingered the thin chain that rested against the back of Keith's neck. He'd asked about it before, so Keith pulled it out of his shirt to show him--they were Shiro's dog tags from the army, given to him as next of kin before he could even see Shiro in the hospital. The background feelings of inadequacy reared up because he knew that before him, the Koganes had each other, and for a time, that was all they needed.

He was afraid of being shoved back out of Keith's life. He was afraid he couldn't move on without him, while Keith and Shiro would go back to the way they were before Lance butted in.

He was a coward, and it put a bitter taste in his mouth, no matter how sweet Keith looked asleep beside him.

\-----

Lance was a spineless worm (helminths didn't have spines anyway, so that phrase was sort of redundant), and he cursed himself repeatedly as he clicked through charts for Dr. Alfor's project. He knew he wasn't supposed to look at Shiro's records, but he had access to them and he just desperately wanted to _understand_.

With guilt wracking every screaming neuron, he opened Shiro's electronic chart.

Most of the things he already knew a bit about--there were tons of notes from one of the psychiatrists, some physiotherapists, an occupational therapist, Dr. Alfor himself, and a social worker. The weird thing was that the social worker's notes went back way further than the others.

Lance's cursor hovered over the folder--he'd reached the point of no return. Whatever these notes said, he couldn't rewind and un-read.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, he double-clicked.

The notes were in reverse chronological order, starting with the weeks following the final prosthetic installation procedure. It talked about how Shiro was still making ends meet with his military funds, but needed to find employment soon. The note was dated a couple months prior to when Shiro started working at the Castle Cafe.

He scrolled back and found more information on the full extent of Shiro's injuries. Since he was the field medic, his team had done their best to keep him alive for transport to the nearest medical facility with rudimentary first aid, and by some miracle he'd been intubated before his airway was too edematous for him to breathe. He remained on ventilator support for months, suffering infection after infection of his already compromised lungs. They tried to save his arm but it wasn't viable, and proceeded with first an amputation at the wrist, but it was unsuccessful and they had to remove up to his elbow.

This was where the notes first mentioned Keith--he had been living in foster care for the time that Shiro was away, since his brother was his legal guardian. Lance could only imagine Keith, young and alone as he tried to navigate the unforgiving foster care system as well as high school, determined to study hard and make his brother proud when he came home.

He scrolled further, and one of the lines of text made a tremor run through his whole body.

_Their father couldn't cope with Keith's diagnosis_

What?

The rest of the screen was a blur. _Diagnosis_? What diagnosis?

Lance steeled himself and kept reading. Keith was only 11 and Shiro was 15 when their father just up and left them. All they had left was each other, and when the money their dad set aside for them eventually ran out, they moved in with the Holt siblings and their grandparents. As soon as Shiro and Matt turned 18, they signed up to join the army and left.

Digging a little further revealed that Keith developed a pilocytic astrocytoma--a technically benign brain tumour that was discovered when he was 10. It had a good prognosis, besides causing severe headaches. It was completely resected shortly before Keith's eleventh birthday, but the extensive hospital stay and subsequent rehabilitation program put massive financial strain on the family. They weren't far from being destitute, and that's when their father just gave up and skipped out on them.

Lance remembered the scar on Keith's scalp, rough and bumpy under his fingertips as they carded through his hair; maybe that's why Keith kept it long?

He had to wipe away a few tears as he closed the file. He wished that the information made things clearer, but it didn't. It didn't explain why Keith was taking anti-epileptic meds, because the social worker stated he made a full recovery after the surgery with no lasting functional or intellectual deficits, and there was no mention of referral to a seizure education program, which would've been the standard of care and often came with referrals to community support groups.

Fuck, why had he thought it was a good idea to stick his nose where it didn't belong? Now he just had more questions than answers. He had hoped that he wouldn't need to confront Keith after essentially betraying both his and Shiro's trust and reading his private medical information, but his stomach sank because now he knew it was even more necessary for them to talk, and he'd have to admit what he'd done.

He buried his head in his hands. His mother would be so disappointed in him. Dr. Luxia would be so disappointed in him. Keith... Keith was going to be furious.

\-----

Shiro was sitting at the square dining table in Lance and Hunk's apartment with a cup of coffee he had hardly touched. Hunk and Shay were already on their way out, as Lance had requested.

Lance sat opposite Shiro, awkwardly pulling his phone out of his pocket every few minutes and just looking at the time, because Keith wasn't finished work for at least ten more minutes and it would take him another fifteen to get home (which, following this discussion, he may not be calling home anymore).

"How's school going so far?" Shiro said, somehow the perfect combination of polite and casual. It still put Lance on edge. He worried his lip between his teeth.

"Oh, same old, you know? Just rounds and wards and notes and rounds."

Shiro hm-ed into the rim of his cup, taking an absurdly delicate sip for a man of his bulky stature.

They passed the time with Shiro asking random questions and Lance watching the clock on his phone like it would tell him how to make all of this go away so they could all live happily ever after.

Eventually, the front door finally opened and Keith slipped inside. He toed off his shoes at the door and immediately shuffled in to drop a kiss on Lance's cheek.

"Sorry I'm late, what's up?"

Shiro gave Keith some half-nod acknowledgement that seemed to communicate a bunch of stuff that Lance didn't follow at all. Keith sat between the two of them, folding his hands on the table. He was wearing his red and white leather jacket and still smelled like the almost-spring air outside.

"So I asked you guys to come here because I need to talk to you about something." Lance couldn't meet either of their eyes, and started to laugh uncontrollably from the anxiety. "Did you want coffee, babe?" He shot out of his seat and made a beeline for the coffee machine, hoping it would give him something to occupy his hands.

"Lance, you're scaring me."

"Oh? Haha, sorry, I uh... there's nothing to be concerned about." He poured definitely more than a dollop of milk into Keith's cup, which was probably a touch more than Keith would've put in for himself. When he placed the pale liquid in front of his boyfriend, Keith didn't comment.

"So um... yeah. It's warming up out there, huh?" he tumbled into some more nervous laughter and Shiro raised an eyebrow at him while Keith looked like he was about to have a conniption.

"Oh God, Lance, are you okay? What's going on?" Keith reached for Lance's hands and enveloped them in his own. Lance noticed that his hands were cold and shaking.

"I uh... Jesus fuck, I'm sorry." He pulled his hands out of Keith's to twist them in his hair, elbows resting on the table as he tried to breathe through the panic rapidly rising in his chest. He couldn't pass out before they talked about this.

"Please, just don't hate me?"

Keith's eyes were wide and concerned, and Shiro was watching him with unguarded worry.

"Come on, Doc, I could never hate you, okay? What's going on?"

Lance finally looked up and prayed his heart would make it through this ordeal.

"I... I read Shiro's chart. I shouldn't have. I betrayed your trust, I broke a bunch of patient confidentiality laws, and--"

"You WHAT?"

Lance had no idea that kind of volume could erupt out of Shiro, who was normally quietly terrifying. He startled back and nearly fell out of his chair.

Keith looked stricken, like he couldn't figure out how he was feeling but also like he wanted to empty his stomach right there. Shiro's eyes were two points of cold, dark fury, and he was practically vibrating with anger.

"You had NO right to read any of that, Lance. NONE! What the hell were you THINKING?" Shiro roared, his prosthetic arm sweeping out wildly and sending his mostly-full cup of coffee careening into one of the walls, where it smashed on contact. Lance flinched back at the sound.

He'd been afraid of Shiro before, in the way that his sisters' boyfriends were afraid of his father, but he was never frightened because he thought Shiro might hurt him. But now the words from Shiro's chart kept running like a movie reel behind his corneas and he shrank away. Shiro was a tortured soul who had witnessed the horrors of a war that shouldn't have been his to fight. He had been trained to be a medic but also to be a soldier, a weapon. It stood to reason that he'd killed some people while he was overseas, and bore his scars as tribute to the people who hadn't been quite fast enough to kill him first.

Shiro must've seen the fear in Lance's eyes, because he immediately backed down, his face draining of colour. Keith stood between them, facing Lance, unconsciously forming a human barrier.

"Lance, I... I don't... I can't believe you were snooping. _Again!_ "

The defense mechanism deployed before Lance could wrangle control over it. "I can't believe you never told me you had a tumour!"

Keith looked like he'd been slapped. "How--?"

"It was in the charts. Pilocytic astrocytoma. But you weren't on meds then, and you are now. What the fuck is going on?"

"That's none of your business, Lance," Shiro cut in, but his voice sounded weak and watery. He'd collapsed back into his chair, shoulders slumped and both arms limp at his sides.

Now the dam was broken and all the emotions were gushing forth, and Lance's attempts to quell them were about as effective as trying to transport water with just his bare hands.

"What happened to your damn promise then? To not wait almost forever to fucking _talk to me_?"

Keith spluttered, face reddened in splotches. "That's different--"

"How? How is it different?!"

"You said you'd wait!" Keith exploded. "You said you'd let me do this on my own time, and I just needed time!"

"You know time is something we DON'T have, Keith!"

Keith was shaking all over, and looked just one fell gust away from laying waste and destruction to the entirety of Lance's residence. Shiro's eyes flickered between them, but his face was otherwise blank, and he didn't move. It was like he'd retreated to some recess in his mind, becoming an observer through his own eyes.

"I can't deal with this." Keith's voice wobbled. He pressed his hand to Shiro's elbow and helped him out of the chair. "We need to get out of here, Takashi."

Shiro robotically followed Keith to the door.

"Yeah, okay, walk away then. You're always running away when things get too tough."

"What the fuck did you just say?"

Keith's glare was murderous from the doorway. Lance felt like he'd already lost everything--there was nothing left to lose.

"You heard me. You ran away from medical school, and you wanted to run away from Pidge, even, when she was fucking dying on the pavement that night. All you do is run, dropout."

Keith snarled at him, but the weight of Shiro's passive hand in his own stopped him from launching himself at Lance.

"Fuck you, asshole! You think that just because you're pretending to be a doctor it gives you the right to judge me?" The tears glistened as they dripped down Keith's face, and Lance wished he could turn back time before all of this. He wished he could take back his own barbed words, and he wished he didn't have to listen to Keith affirm his most profoundly ingrained insecurities. He wasn't cut out to be a doctor; he wanted to heal people and make them happy, but the only thing he was good for was tearing people apart.

The evidence was clear in the aftermath: the shards of one of his IKEA mugs scattered on the floor, coffee splattered like a bloodstain on the wall and tarnishing brown trails on the white paint; Shiro, eyes listless and arms still completely lax at his side, retreated so far back into himself that Keith had to physically prompt him to put one foot in front of another; Keith, somehow still standing even though he was a quaking mess with tears streaked down his cheeks and betrayal inscribed in the shadows under his eyes; and his own feeble, broken heart, rendered more damaged and useless by lost love than any congenital malformation or endocardial infection.

"Goodbye, Lance," Keith finally seethed, wiping his face with his hands. He guided Shiro out the door with gentleness that shouldn't have been possible in his state. The door clicked shut quietly behind them. It hurt even more than if they had slammed it.

Hunk eventually found Lance picking up the pieces of broken ceramic, heedless of his fingers bleeding as he futilely tried to find the pieces that still fit together. He couldn't see through the film of tears anyway.

\-----

There are some things that you can't fix once they're broken.

Silence is one; as soon as pin-drop silence has been shattered, you can't help but hear every slight shift or breeze or rustle.

Trust, unfortunately, is another. Once it's broken and betrayed, it cannot ever truly go back to the way it was before. Maybe you can patch it up and fill the gaps with new kept promises, but it will always be makeshift and it will never be whole. The cracks of doubt run deeper than consciousness, and the little holes weaken the structure of resolve.

And hearts? They can be broken and put back together time and time again, and they will just steadfastly tick, tick, tick away until they just can't anymore. They keep going, but it's not the same. There's too much scarring, not enough elasticity, not enough strength--it becomes simultaneously too stiff and too floppy, too hard and too weak, too brittle and too vulnerable. Yet hearts are kind of special, because broken or whole they still have one thing in common: they need to be loved.

Lance painstakingly glued the pieces of that mug together, but some of the pieces were missing. Small chips were lost, maybe crumbled to dust, maybe just irretrievable. Lance tried to fill the spaces with a layer of glue, but no matter how many times he added dots and lines of sticky gel, the damn thing just kept leaking. He still had no idea where it was coming from.

Keith refused to answer any of his calls or texts, and avoided his eyes if their Pidge-time happened to coincide. Shiro seemed to have completely changed his work schedule and was never at the cafe on Tuesday evenings. Some of the regulars had even come up to Lance after his set to ask him if everything was okay because he had been playing such depressing songs lately.

Dr. Luxia _had_ been disappointed in him when he confided in her, but her face was still open and understanding and he was so grateful she was willing to listen. Hunk and Pidge had both refused to get involved in the feud, and essentially let them duel it out while they sat on the sidelines. On one hand, it was nice to know their friends cared so much that they staunchly avoided picking sides, but on the other it was really difficult to get through the day without their support. Shay did her best to lend a listening ear but it just wasn't the same.

"I can tell that you regret what happened, Lance, and I do understand how all of this is making you feel. It's a terrible situation."

He groaned miserably into his hands. She rubbed a few comforting circles over his left shoulderblade.

"Usually when you feel like you've hit rock bottom, it means that there's nowhere else to go but up."

Lance forced a weak smile. Maybe she was right and things would start looking up.

\-----

The radiosilence was driving Lance nuts. Once the anger had all fizzled out, there was guilt and sadness and self-hatred. The worst was the worry--was Keith okay? He looked nothing like _his_ Keith anymore. His dark eyes were dull and detached, so unlike the dark canvas that reflected the multitude of stars under the planetarium roof all those months ago.

Weirdly enough, a few weeks after his last visit with Dr. Luxia, her theory was proven correct. His phone rang, and he rushed to answer it, hoping it was Keith. He was disappointed, but when he answered, he didn't realise his life was about to change.

"Hello?"

"Is this Lance McClain?" the tinny voice on the other end said.

"Um, yes, Lance McClain speaking."

There was the sound of the person sifting through papers.

"Mr. McClain, this is the National Transplant Centre. We have some fantastic news for you!"

Lance felt his little heart inflate with hope and leap up into his throat. Already his vision was getting blotchy and his face was ice-cold.

"Oh my God," he breathed, not really cognizant of the other person on the phone.

"Sir, please proceed to the Altea University Hospital at 7:30AM tomorrow morning." Lance held his breath in anticipation.

"We have a heart for you."

Lance was so stunned he really thought he was going to pass out, but the excitement bubbled up under his diaphragm and overflowed as a loud whoop he inadvertently let out into the receiver. Whoops, sorry telephone person.

" _Dios_ ," he wheezed, shaking off the lingering disbelief and letting it bloom into elation. " _Dios_ , thank you so much! Thank you, thank you!"

The voice chuckled and told him a few more things that he wrote down because he was definitely not going to remember in his mental state.

\-----

April 23

**To: Mullet**

_keith i know ur still mad at me_

_im really sorry_

_i really need 2 talk 2 u_

_pls call me asap?_

 

April 23

 **To: Mullet** \- _draft:_

_i still love u_

_im geting a heart_

_we could have 4ever_

 

April 24

**To: Mullet**

_goin into OR_

_wish me lcuk_

\-----

When Lance woke up in a hospital room, his first instinct was to cover his face with this hands to block out the harsh fluorescent light. Had he passed out again? It was getting pretty damn old.

He coughed to clear his throat, and felt a sharp twinge in his chest. He scratched at the spot absently, slowly realising that he wasn't wearing his clothes.

He must've been in the hospital overnight?

His fingernails caught on a pillow-like dressing stuck to his chest. Wait...

The memories slowly filtered in and--

Holy fucking shit, he had a new heart!

The door opened and his parents poked their heads in. He felt the tears cascading down his face as they started to cry, scooping him into their arms like he was just a little kid again. He drifted in and out of consciousness as the pain meds kicked in, but soon the room was full of all his siblings and his nephews and nieces Skype called him from home.

His new heart beat strong and steady behind his sternum, making itself a new home in the cradle of his flesh and bones. His mother lead a prayer, thanking God and the donor and their family for making their dreams come true. Lance privately added his own thanks into the prayer, and even though he felt like he had nothing else to want for, he still asked God to help him and Keith find their way back together.

\-----

While Lance was completely out of commission (he would have to take a full year's leave of absence from school, but it was for a good reason. He'd just graduate with the class one year below him, and it'd only be weird because Nyma and Shay would be his junior residents in his final year), Hunk hadn't been able to come in to visit because he'd gotten a lung. Lance had almost destroyed his poor phone screen trying to type out an adequate number of emojis to convey how ecstatic he was for his best friend. Their mothers were already calling each other and making plans for a huge combined thirtieth birthday party for both of them. Pidge had been due to get her kidney from Keith at some point in the blur of time since Lance's new life started, so he also hadn't seen her but they were all messaging each other furiously on Facebook using the shitty hospital WiFi.

As soon as Lance was discharged he wanted to see Hunk. They hugged and cried and Lance babbled on and on about stupid shit they were gonna do together, now that they could. ("Our parents are setting up that huge birthday party for us and we're gonna get drunk and we're gonna fucking _run_ and neither of us will pass out or go cyanotic and we're gonna get drunk and go on rollercoasters--" "Not in that order, I hope." "--shh, don't interrupt! We're gonna have families and play with our kids and they'll be best friends and we'll laugh and we'll be so happy and we'll dance in the rain--" "Lance, we'll be lucky if we're not still immunosuppressed to our eyeballs for the rest of our lives." "--I _told you not to interrupt_!")

Lance's tears eventually dried out and then he was just laughing, stomach aching and sore chest heaving. They weren't gonna die. They were gonna live, and it was beautiful.

Hunk, however, hadn't gotten the memo that the waterworks were closed--at some point, his best friend had dissolved into full-on ugly sobs and Lance suddenly felt like he was left out of the loop.

"Hey, dude, what's going on?"

Hunk tried for a watery smile but he still had tears and snot sliding down his face, no matter how fast he tried to wipe it away. "Nothing, my man! Nothing at all. You got your heart, I got my lung. All we needed was one. We've got another shot at life!"

But he was still crying harder than Lance could ever remember seeing him cry.

"Dude?"

Hunk dragged Lance into a hug that would normally be comforting but now felt like a stranglehold.

"It's a happy day, Lance," the big guy sobbed, and Lance didn't know what to do with his hands. "A happy, happy day."

Something about Hunk's tone implied the exact opposite, but Lance couldn't figure out why.

\-----

"PIDGET!!"

Pidge ran full-speed at Lance and he caught her, spinning her around until they were both dizzy enough to topple over. Their rehabilitation therapist rolled her eyes at them, but Lance was too busy giving Pidge the noogie of her life to care.

"Holy shit, it's been forever!" Pidge hollered, trying valiantly to get away from Lance's tickling fingers but ultimately failing. In a last-ditch effort to escape, she turned the tables and went for one of Lance's most vulnerable spots--damn his popliteal fossae!

"How's it going?" Lance asked, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. Pidge fixed her glasses from where they'd been knocked askew by their rough-housing.

"You are looking at someone who is never gonna do dialysis ever again!"

They hugged for real this time, and Lance lifted Pidge off her feet with the force of his enthusiasm.

"We should all totally compare scars," Lance joked. Pidge's face fell.

He didn't think the joke was that flat. He frowned.

"Pidget?"

"Uh... yeah, haha, we should." That was definitely a fake laugh. Something was up.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah! Yeah, for sure." Pidge's eyes darted to the rehabilitation therapist. "I mean, hey, aren't we here to rehabilitate and stuff? Let's hop to it, twinkle toes!"

It was an obvious deflection but Lance didn't want to push too hard. He followed Pidge to the strength training tools and tried to change the subject.

"So uh... how's Keith been?"

Pidge went completely rigid, one of the weighted balls slipping from her grip and landing with a dull thud against the padded flooring. It rolled a few inches before coming to a stop.

Lance's frown deepened. "Uh, Pidge?"

He approached a little closer, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She was practically vibrating.

She covered her face with her hands, and Lance definitely heard her sniffle. What the fuck?

"Hey, hey! I'm sorry I said something wrong, Pidget. Please don't cry."

"I'm not crying, you butthole!" she sobbed out. Yep, that was convincing. She scrubbed angrily at her face. "And Keith is the dumbest piece of shit I know!" She made an aborted flail-y movement, kicked at the ground, and ended up landing hard on her bum.

"Whoa!" Lance wasn't fast enough to catch her. He knelt down beside her, trying to avoid her erratic limbs as she pummelled the living daylights out of the mat below her while their therapist watched from a cautious distance, her hand hovering over the security button. Lance held out a hand to her, trying to convey that he had this, and since security didn't come rushing in the message was probably received.

Pidge didn't say anything intelligible after that, and wore herself out quickly enough. Eventually, the two of them were flopped back on the floor mat, staring up listlessly at the ceiling. The therapist had wisely chosen to give them some privacy.

It was comfortable, listening to Pidge breathe beside him. The uneasiness didn't ebb away--he still felt that awful out-of-the-loop sensation--but for now, he was content. Pidge's snuffles and hiccups had petered out and she may have fallen asleep.

"Lance?" Oh, not asleep then.

"Yeah?"

Pidge clasped her hand around Lance's forearm. Lance turned his head to look at her, but she was still staring straight up. A tear slipped free from the corner of her eye and got lost in her caramel-coloured hair.

"I'm sorry things turned out this way," she said cryptically. Lance wanted to ask, but he heard another sniffle and he decided to let it go, covering her hand with his own.

"We're gonna be okay," he said, hoping it was at least a little reassuring.

Pidge took a deep breath. "Yeah. Yeah, we will."

They watched the ceiling fan until the therapist returned and let them know the rehab unit was closing for the day.

\-----

With a new heart and a renewed purpose in life, Lance had a few goals to address. First, he wanted to find Keith and clear up all the shit that had gone down between them, and also figure out what the hell was eating Hunk and Pidge. He figured that if his friends weren't telling him, they'd at least tell Keith. He also hoped that Keith actually had gone to visit both Hunk and Pidge, since the damn mullet certainly did not spare any time at Lance's bedside. It was pretty cold, even for Keith (but Lance had basically stabbed him in the back in the most invasive way possible, so... there was that). He knew Keith wasn't actually a dickwad, so he must've gone to visit Hunk and Pidge, right? Whatever. He wanted to okay-ify everything in his friend group, starting with his hopefully-not-ex-boyfriend.

Next, he wanted to start up 'Lance's Dream Fund' as a scholarship for families of organ donors, so they could get a shot at making their dreams come true, too. Their loved ones were able to open the doors to infinite possibility for a bunch of strangers, and they deserved to have the opportunity to say thank you. He'd already started fleshing out the idea and planned on using his year off to get started on establishing the project and collecting the money and support necessary to get it off the ground. Allura, thank goodness, had agreed to help him out with it and he really needed her expertise; the awkwardness of the fact that she had recently gotten engaged to Shiro would be a bridge to cross when he got there.

Finally, he wanted to perform one of his songs for a real audience. Sure, it was the half-listening hipsters in the Castle Cafe, but they were still actual people so they counted (okay, Lance would also try to tone down the saltiness toward hipster culture now that he had a much longer lifetime over which to spread the salt).

That last goal led him to where he was, sitting in front of the Castle Cafe's patrons with his guitar on his knee and his new, healthy heart crawling up his trachea. It thudded there, so consistent that he expected to feel light-headed but he wasn't; his fingers didn't tingle, his lips weren't numb... he could actually feel the clamminess and sweat on his palms, creating a gross slippery interface against the familiar smooth lacquer of his guitar's body.

"So this uh... this is my last song for the night, and it's actually an original." He cleared his throat awkwardly. People just kept milling around, chatting quietly and sipping their drinks and taking Instagram photos of the latte art in their cups. "I've never actually played an original for an audience before."

There were a few whoops and hollers in the audience, which was encouraging. Lance took a deep breath. "The only person I ever played my own songs for was... well, we haven't talked in months." There was a chorus of "aww"s that was pretty nice, really, because it made him feel like these people actually sympathized for him. Hm, maybe the hipsters weren't so bad.

"He... um, well, we were together. For a while. And then I screwed it up." Suddenly the cafe felt way too quiet, and Lance shifted uncomfortably on his stool. "It was really shitty of me. We haven't talked since."

He swallowed thickly, praying he'd actually make it through the song. Why was he baring his soul to a giant room full of random people? Oh well, too late to stop now.

"So, er, this song is for him. I know he's not here right now, but maybe you guys can be my trial run? Then, when I play it for him, I hope he'll forgive me."

There were some interested murmurs amongst the audience. A few chairs scraped against the floor as they repositioned to see the stage better.

Lance chuckled apprehensively. "So if it sucks, please let me know before I make a bigger fool out of myself?" That earned him a few laughs. "Because I still really love him, and now... well, I've changed, and I'll wait forever for him if I have to." (He left the, ' _And now I can_ ' unsaid. He didn't owe these people his life's story or anything, and the AV guys wanted to pack up their equipment soon.)

"Here goes." He gulped down a shaky breath, held it, and let it go.

The music was so easy to get lost in, and if he closed his eyes then it was like he was sitting on his bed in his room with Keith's back resting against his shins, humming along to a song that only the two of them had ever heard. It reminded him of tossing his limbs around Keith's frame and feeling the way the smaller boy's arms tightened around him reflexively as he stumbled under the additional weight. It was that safe, secure feeling he got with Keith's sweet-smelling hair pillowing his cheek and his heartbeat slow and regular in the cup of his palm while they were both supposed to be asleep, but Lance just wanted to watch the moonlight dance over Keith's skin.

When he strummed out the last chord and his tongue curled around the last note, he was surprised that tears had sprung to his eyes and he had to blink them away. There was a beat of silence throughout the entire cafe before everyone burst into applause--some people even stood up from their tables. Someone yelled over the din of clapping, "Go get him back!", which made him laugh.

"Thanks everyone," he said, atria and ventricles filled with gratitude. He stood up and pulled his guitar strap over his head as he turned off the mic.

While he was packing up, someone tapped his shoulder from behind. He swiveled, then almost jumped a foot in the air when he realised who it was.

"Shiro?" he absolutely did NOT shriek. A bunch of patrons turned their heads toward him. He sheepishly waved at them, rubbing the back of his neck with his other hand.

The elder Kogane was dressed in what looked like jet-black, heavy-duty scrubs. He could've passed for a SWAT team member or something, but Lance figured he had probably just come straight from his training course. That might've been why his schedule changed--maybe he wasn't avoiding Lance as actively as Lance had thought.

"Shiro?" he repeated at a volume and pitch meant for two humans in a debatably relaxed conversation.

"Hi, Lance," Shiro said flatly. It didn't sound particularly welcoming but it also wasn't even close to the kind of scary Lance now knew Shiro could dish out. This was more like mild distaste coming from an extremely tolerant person.

"How have you been?"

It shouldn't have been a dumb question to ask, but Shiro's eyes narrowed and if looks could kill, well, the country had just wasted a perfectly good heart donation.

"...Fine," Shiro said after an unsettlingly long pause.

"Um... how is the paramedicine thing going?"

Shiro folded his arms over his chest in a way so reminiscent of Keith it made Lance's (now functional-heart-containing) chest ache.

"I completed it at the end of June. I started working, actually. I'm also doing further training so I can provide more advanced care."

Lance smiled. "Congrats, man! That's great. I'm really happy for you."

Shiro's eyes lingered on Lance's face for a beat longer than Lance was strictly comfortable with.

"Thank you." (That sounded way too formal.) "I just wanted to say that I'm happy for you, too."

Lance wasn't sure where Shiro was going with that. "Uh, thanks, Shiro."

His confusion must've been pretty clear in his expression because then Shiro reached forward, his prosthetic hand hovering half an inch away from Lance's chest. He waited for permission, palm suspended so close that Lance could feel the slight chill of the alloy radiate to his skin.

Lance looked down at Shiro's hand, then back up to his face. He nodded. Shiro closed the remaining gap, his hand now flush against Lance's ribcage. The prosthetic was not particularly cold, just a few degrees below the resting temperature of Lance's skin. The light pressure made Lance hyper-alert to each _lub-dub_ as his second-hand heart merrily pumped away.

Shiro's eyes went sort of glassy, entranced by the regular rhythm. There were no skipped beats and no extra ones, either. His heart was, at long last, totally ordinary.

The moment ended when one corner of Shiro's mouth twitched slightly and he jerked his hand away as if he was withdrawing from a bee sting, which was odd to think about since his right arm was impervious to those kinds of annoyances. It was, however, a miracle of modern technology and medicine such that Shiro had been able to count every hearbeat that thumped against his prosthetic palm.

They stared at each other for a second before Lance had to break eye contact.

"I should get going," Lance coughed out, reaching for his guitar case. Shiro's flesh hand on his forearm stilled him.

"Wait."

He watched with baited breath as Shiro procured something out of the collar of his shirt and pulled it over his head. It glinted in the light.

"Keith wanted me to give you this," Shiro explained, using his natural hand to slide down Lance's ulna and supinate his hand. Two dog tags dangled from a thin metal chain, and Shiro deposited it in a pool of silver against the creases of his heart and life lines. Lance let his fingers curl around them. They were still warm from being nestled against Shiro's skin.

"Why didn't he come give them to me himself?" It seemed reasonable enough to ask.

Shiro cracked a smile at that, but it felt backwards and all wrong. "He's otherwise occupied right now." Lance watched Shiro's flesh fingertips absently press against the ghost of the dog tags over his breastbone.

Lance didn't want to take that as an answer, but Shiro cut him off.

"Bye, Lance. I'll see you around."

"Bye, Shiro," Lance called out after Shiro's broad shoulders weaving through the crowd of people waiting for their drinks at the counter.

He slung his guitar case over his shoulder and stared down at the tags in his left hand. One of them was engraved with a stunning diagram of the heart, like it was taken straight out of an anatomy atlas. On the reverse side was just the word "DREAM" in blocky capital letters. The other was engraved with the date of that first escapade into laser tag and leftovers, when Keith and Lance first realised that they were an unstoppable team. The back surface was engraved with, _mi primer amor_ (my first love) in a beautiful looping script.

That flickering flame of hope had a renovated home in Lance's improved mediastinum, where it could burn bigger and brighter than ever. As he pulled the chain over his head and tucked the dog tags against his new heart, he felt those embers of hope roar to life.

Maybe it wasn't too late for them.

\-----

Allura met with him to discuss the plan for 'Lance's Dream Fund' and start moving into the sponsorship stage. So far, Pidge and Hunk had helped him work through a few campaigning ideas to raise awareness and get the message out, but Keith hadn't responded to any of his texts or voicemails. He refused to give up hope, and his resolve strengthened with every step he took. The dog tags bounced in time with his saving grace reverberating off the inner walls of his chest cavity.

"...and I think that's all for now, Lance! This looks fantastic. I'm so excited for you!"

Lance smiled softly back at Allura as he straightened out the stacks of papers on his dining table (the coffee stain on the wall was still visible if you knew where to look, no matter how many Magic Erasers Hunk and Lance attacked it with). "Thank you so much for helping me with this, I couldn't do it without you."

Allura placed her hand on his cheek. "You are living proof that people can achieve their dreams."

He grinned and pulled her into a hug.

When they separated, he licked his lips nervously. "Can I ask you something?"

Allura swept her hair out of the collar of her jacket and nodded as she buttoned it.

"Um... how is Keith? I haven't heard from him, and no one will tell me anything, and I haven't run into Shiro again since the cafe last week."

Allura's eyes softened and she took both of Lance's hands in hers.

"Sweetie, I think we should sit down. We seem to have a few more things we need to chat about."

She guided him to the couch, which held so many good memories of video game tournaments that Pidge dominated and sci-fi movie marathons with Keith a warm presence at his side, bickering with Pidge about what was _really_ the fantasy component in those films, all of them stuffed silly with Hunk's incredible, soul-nourishing food. They sank down into the well-worn cushions, knees inclined toward each other.

"Lance, darling, what did Shiro say when you saw him?"

"Well, things are still awkward between us." He looked away guiltily. "I mean, I don't blame him, it's my fault anyway."

Allura sighed and folded their hands together, bringing them up so she could brush her lips against his knuckles.

"I'm sorry, Lance," she said very quietly. "I wish things didn't have to be this way."

Lance couldn't hide his irritation when he ground out, "That's what everyone keeps saying, and I don't know why!"

It was frustrating and Lance was at the end of his very limited supply of patience. He was irked and exasperated and just wanted some goddamn answers.

Allura withdrew her hands and let them rest in loose fists on her knees.

"Lance, Keith is gone."

Lance couldn't decipher the emotion in Allura's voice, but she was avoiding his eyes just like everyone else had every time he brought Keith up.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? He's running away again?" He shot up to his feet, rolling his eyes and beginning to pace just to expend some of the excess restless energy racing through his arteries. "That asshole never finishes what he starts!"

He clenched his fist tight around the dog tags through his shirt with half a mind to rip the damn things off. Allura's hands closed over his, gentle, like she was trying to soothe a young child.

"No, Lance. There have been too many misunderstandings, or miscommunications, or... I don't know." She tried to start again. "Keith loved you so much, Lance. He's gone, but he'll always be here for you."

Her voice went thin and reedy on the word "always". Lance's brain struggled to catch up with what Allura was implying.

"What are you saying?"

Allura slowly sat down on the sofa, still holding Lance's fist. He followed, letting his weight sink into the seat.

"He died, Lance."

But that... that was impossible. That made no sense! Was this some kind of sick joke?

He wanted to shout or scream or yell or _something_ , but all that came out of his mouth was a croaked, "When?"

Allura couldn't look at him. "April twenty-third this year."

No. No, no, no, _no_!

"That was when--"

Allura carefully pried Lance's hand away from the dog tags.

"Yes."

She cupped the back of his right hand in hers, and pressed it flat against his left fifth intercostal space in his midclavicular line, where his heartbeat would be the strongest. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't handle what she was trying to tell him.

"Whose heart is this, Allura?"

His surgeon had told him his donor wished to remain anonymous, and he had been disappointed. However, it just tempered his determination to make 'Lance's Dream Fund' happen, because recipients of organs from anonymous donors could still express their gratitude for the greatest gift they'd ever received.

"I think you already know the answer to that, Lance."

It seemed like so long ago that Lance experienced his lips going numb and his face going cold, his limbs feeling like lead and his vision blurring and fading to black; this was similar but worse, because he felt like he was falling to pieces but there was no kind embrace of darkness and oblivion to fall into.

She pulled him into her arms and rocked him slowly while his entire world came crashing down around him and he was too dumbstruck to even cry. The sweet memory of falling asleep with his head pillowed on Keith's chest, letting the lullaby of his heartbeat sing him to sleep--it cut so deeply he couldn't even bleed.

No wonder this new song in his chest was such a perfect fit--it had already been there from the moment Keith walked in.

\-----

A few days passed in a haze of numbness. Pidge and Hunk had these mournful, apologetic expressions that Lance didn't even have the emotional capacity to hate. They took turns eating with him and forcing him to lie in bed at night, even though he just stared at the shadows on his bedroom wall until morning.

The dog tags were the only thing that anchored him to reality.

Eventually, he started remembering to eat and shower. Then he gradually re-introduced his full skincare routine. He was coming back to himself bit by bit--he would sit through entire movies with Hunk, Shay, and Pidge, and he was able to talk to Shiro again. They were able to get past civil small talk and started really connecting, and they both realised that there was something very powerful about sharing their grief. It did nothing to fill the gaping hole Keith's loss left in their lives, but somehow it made it easier to reinforce everything around it so breathing didn't feel like they were collapsing in on themselves anymore.

Healing was an interesting phenomenon, because what one person may view as healing, another may see as dying. Sometimes, even to one person, the definition of healing could shift from "moving on and letting go" to "hanging on no matter what". Sometimes healing required medicine, or hope, or time, or just enough scar tissue to interrupt the pathway from pain to perception.

\-----

When Lance inevitably called the Bakku clinic to make an appointment to see Dr. Luxia for grief counselling, they were able to slot him in uncannily fast. At the actual appointment, Dr. Luxia confessed that she was expecting him to call, and had been flagging every Tuesday since Keith's passing just in case he called.

"Keith had a plan for all this," she told him as she pulled a thick letter-sized envelope out of her desk. It was so full it resembled a box more than an envelope.

"Funny, he was notoriously bad at making plans before he did things." Lance surprised himself with the lack of pain that followed his statement. He had been so used to every memory or mention of Keith being accompanied by pain that he never really noticed that the pain was getting easier to tolerate as time went on.

Dr. Luxia chuckled, but her eyes were suspiciously moist. She handed him the wad of papers. His wrist instantly protested the strain and had to accept it with both hands.

"He told me that he didn't want you to know everything right away--he figured that giving you some time to recover would soften the blow." Lance opened his mouth to tell her _exactly_ what he thought of that, but she held up her hands in surrender. "Hey, I'm not saying I agree with his logic, I'm just telling you what he told me to tell you."

Lance's mouth audibly clicked shut. He turned the massive envelope over in his hands, and on the front was a message scribbled out in Keith's familiar handwriting.

 

_To: Lance_

_I know you would have wanted to understand. I'm sorry I took almost forever, but I kept my promise after all._

_~~From~~ _

_Love,_

_Keith_

_PS: You'll always be my first choice_

 

The tears sprang unbidden to Lance's eyes, and he wiped them away before opening the envelope. He hesitated before pulling any of the contents out, looking up at Dr. Luxia as if seeking her approval. She shrugged noncommittally.

Inhaling sharply through his nose, Lance slid a whole folder of paper out of the envelope.

It was a compilation of every medical chart and record that existed for Keith Kogane.

"Thank you for getting this to me," he breathed, reverently sliding the folder back into the envelope. The paper was really pushed to its limit.

"It was my responsibility to Keith," she said. "He entrusted me with it, and I had to make sure it got to where it needed to go."

That was definitely beyond the scope of just a psychotherapist, but Lance didn't mention that thought. Dr. Luxia nudged her box of tissues into his thigh and he gratefully accepted the offer.

\-----

A few years later, Shiro and Allura got married (after a _super_ long engagement, and Lance was now a self-proclaimed expert on _waiting too long_ , thank you very much). It was a beautiful, elegant affair, and of course Dr. Alfor and Dr. Coran attended. It was a little weird for Lance to watch his friends tie the knot while he sat next to some of his previous supervisors and teachers, but he couldn't have been happier.

The invitations had requested that guests forgo wedding gifts, and included a special card.

 

_Dear Reader,_

_You are probably reading this card because you or someone in your life has been touched by the generosity of an organ donor. The gift of life is beautiful in so many immeasurable ways, and I am so happy that your life has been changed by an organ donation._

_Mine was. As always, it was all Keith's fault._

_Please allow me to explain:_

_Keith was the love of my life. He was also the most stubborn, hot-headed, infuriating person I have ever met, but he had a wonderful heart (trust me, I would know--it's taken up permanent residence in my chest and it's currently beating there as I write this)._

_Before I even knew him, Keith had more than his fair share of struggles. At 10 years old, he was diagnosed with a pilocytic astrocytoma, a brain tumour that is usually benign. His was big enough that it was causing him terrible headaches and it had to be removed after he lost consciousness. Usually, these tumours can be completely cured with surgery alone, and most patients make a full recovery. Keith's surgery was a success, and he was inspired to be a surgeon one day._

_I met Keith in medical school. He was the shining star of Altea University, and everyone expected him to become one of the best and brightest physicians of our future. Unfortunately, he dropped out before we had the chance to bask in his greatness._

_You see, most of the time, tumours like Keith's do not come back. But rarely, they do, and because Keith hadn't been able to afford all of his follow-up care, the recurrence of his tumour wasn't caught until he started having seizures. By this time, the tumour had not only returned, but it was larger than before and more difficult to treat. He had to drop out of medical school to attend his appointments and work to pay his medical expenses, among other family circumstances he was facing. We were dating by then, and I still had no clue what was going on._

_Keith was supposed to start radiation therapy, but it took a long time for him to save up enough money. By the time he could finally initiate the program, one of our very close friends was the victim of a hate crime that left her without the function of her kidneys, and Keith was the only one of us who was an eligible donor, since his tumour was very specifically localized and there have been so many amazing advances in medicine and technology. Keith even had a hand in some of the research that has made organ transplantation more accessible (I did mention that he was the top of the class and such, right?). In order to donate his kidney, however, he could not receive the radiation treatment._

_For Keith, this was an easy decision. He never started radiation, his tumour continued to compress the healthy parts of his brain and cause damage until he slipped into a coma overnight._

_All of Keith's plans had already been set up. He was only put on life support so his organs could be donated--our friend received one of his kidneys, his brother received one of his lungs, my best friend and soul brother received his other lung, and I received his heart. The rest of his organs and tissues saved or at least changed other peoples' lives._

_Before Keith, I was just a kid from Cuba with a dream of being a pediatrician someday, to help kids live happy, healthy lives and meet their potentials. I wanted them to achieve their dreams, too. Before Keith, I wasn't expected to live into my thirties, not without a new heart._

_Then, like I said, my life was changed, all thanks to Keith. I learned his heart well while it was still in its native home, while Keith taught me what it was like to be someone's first priority. Then he gave me his heart and I learned that second-hand doesn't always mean second best, and it certainly does not mean "less than"._

_My godfather set aside money for me to go to medical school and called it **Lance's Dream Fund**. In memory of him, Keith, and everyone who has helped me reach my dream, I dedicate **Lance's Dream Fund**. I started it so that anyone who has been touched by an organ donor could help the loved ones left behind to achieve their dreams. We provide scholarships for students and start-ups for many other endeavors so that organ recipients have a way to show their gratitude to the people who gave the greatest gifts of all._

_Now, Keith's brother is a paramedic and he's getting married. Our friend--well, you might know her. She's the founder of Gunderson Technologies Inc., and they recently bought Google. My BFF and brother from another mother is happily married and his second kid is on the way (I keep telling him that if this one's a boy, he should name him Lance). He's also the biomedical engineer who teamed up with the Alfor Lab to produce the cutting edge prosthetics that are quickly rising to become the standard of care for amputees._

_Me? I'm just a doctor._

_The gift of life allows us to do some pretty amazing things. I know it was the most precious thing Keith could have ever given us, even though we still feel his loss as acutely as the first day without him._

_From the bottom of my heart and on behalf of my family and all the families of organ donors, thank you so much for supporting **Lance's Dream Fund**._

 

_Best wishes,_

_Dr. Lance McClain_

_Pediatric Hematologist/Oncologist_

_Altea University Hospital_

\-----

Two teenagers stand in a cemetery.

"Hey Mom," the girl greets. The boy sets down a bouquet of white lilies, their mother's favourite. They unscrew the water bottle cap and sprinkle some water on the daffodils planted on either side of the headstone.

"Long time no see," the boy says.

The wind picks up and carries the scent of the flowers.

"We miss you every day," the girl says. Her brother wraps his arm around her shoulders. "You'll always be a hero to us, you know."

They don't say anything for a while. The birds chirp overhead, and the sun warms their faces.

"Guess what, Mom?" the boy finally says. "Dad said we both got those scholarships he applied for. I'm gonna be an astronaut someday, just you wait!"

The girl laughed. "And I'm going to be the astrophysicist that makes everything he does possible." She rests her head on her brother's shoulder.

"We also met the lady that got your heart," the boy says. "She's really nice. She's pretty young--do you remember Becca? She used to babysit us when we were little. Well, the lady is Becca's age. She just got married, and she has two kids. A boy and a girl, just like us."

"Yeah, Mom, she showed us pictures. They're so cute and tiny," the girl adds.

"They're like, two and four."

"That's still pretty tiny!"

The boy rolls his eyes. "Well, they're gonna be teenagers like us before you know it."

The girl pouts. "I'm sure she wants them to be her babies forever."

They lapse into quiet again.

"I wonder what they will be when they grow up. Do you think they've got dreams already?"

"Well, duh. I wanted to be Iron Man when I was like, three."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

The boy and the girl each press a kiss to the cool marble.

"Love you, Mom. We'll be back to see you soon."

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: Major character death, HEAVY ANGST, discussion and depiction of terminal illness, discussion and depiction of mental illness (PTSD, depression), mentions of suicidal thoughts and self-harm/suicidal ideation (brief), discussion of other forms of mental illness, coarse language, graphic consensual sexual content, discussion and depiction of discrimination and non-graphic violence (hate crime).
> 
> I honestly have not written a story in so many years it's painful. This was kind of a weird catharsis for me, and also a goal, because I wanted to have some medium for the experiences I've had; this was an incredibly self-indulgent project, but I'm hoping that you enjoy it anyway.
> 
> The premise of this fic was born when I was reminiscing about some of my old writing. I had written this fic inspired by the movie "7 Pounds", and upon re-reading it, there were so many things I wanted to change that I figured it'd be best to just overhaul the whole thing. Well, I didn't want to just re-write what was already done, so I thought I'd give the story a new spin, and it literally spun out of control.
> 
> Over 65k words later, this happened.
> 
> A huge thank you to my sister and boyfriend, who both listened to all my ranting about writing this labour of love, and to all of you who stuck it out and read the whole thing!
> 
> You can contact/follow me on [tumblr](http://bffimagine.tumblr.com)


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